


Does Size Really Matter?

by impalagirl, wilddragonflying



Series: Roleplays [19]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Curses, Derek gets a tail and ears, F/M, First Kiss, M/M, Mini!Derek, Peter dies, alpha!Derek, beta!derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 11:56:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1604282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalagirl/pseuds/impalagirl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek gets cursed, and Stiles has to look after him while he's cursed, because Scott is a selfish little shit. This curse really could not have struck at a more inconvenient time, considering Peter's still on the loose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Does Size Really Matter?

**Author's Note:**

> So this is based on this(prettiestalpha.tumblr.com/tagged/minialpha) series by prettiestalpha on tumblr; go read it if you haven't already, because it is the cutest thing ever! Obviously ours is different, but the idea came from this series.

Stiles sprinted through the woods, his heart pounding and his breathing hard and fast. He may have been a skinny bastard, but all of the physical activity that had been required of him recently had made him realise just how unfit he was. Apparently sitting on a bench for the majority of his lacrosse games didn't actually constitute as 'doing a sport'. Who knew?

He didn't even know why he was this frantic. For once, he was running toward something, rather than away, although what that something was he had no idea. Honestly, Stiles didn't know why he was here in the first place. Maybe he'd deserved it, maybe not, but his nose still twinged indignantly whenever he thought about that asshole werewolf slamming it into the steering wheel of his jeep. Still, when the text from Scott had come through— ** _911, HALE HOUSE. DEREK IN TROUBLE_** —Stiles had been helpless to ignore it. Mostly because it was Scott, and Stiles loved Scott a lot.

And there he was, standing awkwardly on the steps outside the wreck that had once been Derek's home, holding something small and furry in the palm of his hand. "Hey," Stiles panted, coming to a stop a few feet away and doubling over, hands braced on his knees, while he caught his breath. When he felt slightly less like he was about to die, he raised his head a little and gestured at Scott. "What's with the chipmunk?"

The "chipmunk" growled at Stiles, and Scott tightened his grip slightly. "Apparently there was some sort of cursed object still in here—Derek touched it, it vanished, and, well..." Scott opened his hands enough for Stiles to see what was in them. 

It was Derek. In addition to being shrunk, the Beta now had an _extremely_ fluffy tail (made even fluffier by the fact that it was bristling with anger) and in place of his regular ears, he had furry ones, slightly pointed, like a cat's. If Scott had to compare Derek's new appearance to something, he'd say he looked like a more realistic chibi figure.

Stiles stared in mild horror for a long moment—and then he melted. "Oh my God, isn't he cute!" he squealed, approaching and trying to tickle Derek under the chin with an outstretched pinkie. He just cackled when Derek snapped his teeth at him. "Who's a grumpy little werewolf? You are! Yes, you are!"

Derek snarled. "I _will_ claw your face off," he threatened, hands curling into fists by his sides. 

Scott tugged his hands back, out of reach of Stiles for the moment. "Dude, focus. We need somewhere to keep him; he can't stay out here."

Stiles shrugged. "Take him home, then," he suggested. "I'm sure Allison won't mind being cockblocked by a tiny werewolf on account of the fact that she won't be putting out anytime soon anyway. Just make sure your mom doesn't accidentally scoop him up in a load of laundry and wash him." He chuckled. "I'm having _Stuart Little_ flashbacks."

Derek growled again, and Scott shook his head. "Can't; you know I've got a lot on my plate, Stiles. You'll have to take him."

"What? _No_." Stiles looked horrified. "He may be tiny, but he still has claws, and _teeth_. What if he bites something off in the middle of the night?"

Derek bared said teeth in a smirk, and Scott scoffed. "You wanna just leave him out here by himself? Look at him; he's the size of a kitten! He can't fend for himself, Stiles. He'd get eaten by something."

Stiles sighed. "Okay, I get that cute, defenseless mini-Derek is, well, cute and defenseless," he said. "What I don't get is why you can't take him."

Derek glared at Stiles. "Because he _will_ get distracted, and something will happen to me," he growled, and dammit, that didn't sound as threatening as he wanted it to. "I don't fancy getting thrown in a washing machine or having to run from a vacuum cleaner."

"I'm the one with ADHD," Stiles pointed out. "How do you know I won't get distracted?"

"Because you're also the one with less to worry about," Scott countered. "Dude, I've already got to worry about lacrosse, Jackson, my mom, Allison, my grades, and being a werewolf. You don't have all that to worry about, so you get Derek."

Stiles stared at Scott. Just because he was human and had never had a girlfriend, he had nothing to worry about? That was the biggest load of bullshit he'd ever heard. "You're a horrible friend," Stiles told Scott sincerely, but he held out his hand anyway. "Give him here."

Scott did, and Derek carefully jumped from one boy's palm to the other. "Drop me, and I'll hurt you," he said stiffly. It was mortifying, having to be held to travel efficiently, but what choice did Derek have?

"No you won't," Stiles said confidently, cradling Derek carefully in his hand. "Rule number one of being dependent on another person: never bite the hand that feeds you." He glared at Scott. "Especially when that hand doesn't belong to someone who can magically heal themselves."

Derek grumbled and sat down, tucking his knees against his chest. "Stupid pot," he muttered. "Didn't even realize it was cursed."

Stiles didn't even think about it, he just brought his other hand up and used a fingertip to gently rub between Derek's fluffy little ears. "You weren't to know," he reassured the tiny werewolf. "I don't think curses have a particular smell. We'll go home and hit Google up and see if we can find out how to reverse it, okay?"

Derek leaned into the touch until he realized what he was doing, and then he jerked back, growling as he rubbed angrily at his hair. "Yeah, sounds like a plan," he muttered.

Stiles sighed and looked over at Scott. "I'll call you if we find anything, okay? Have fun with all your responsibilities." Curling his hand more securely around Derek, he turned and wandered back through the woods.

***

Derek held on tightly to Stiles's thumb, but he was careful not to use his claws. When they got to the Jeep, Derek waited until Stiles had opened the door before he jumped out of the teenager's hand onto the driver's seat and then scrambled across to the passenger seat. Everything was so... _big_ now, disproportionate enough to make it nearly impossible to recognize things by sight alone. "So," Derek started after Stiles turned the key, "how exactly do you plan on keeping this a secret from your dad?"

Stiles shrugged. "The same way as I've kept everything else from him; I'm not going to tell him." He cut his gaze to Derek. "Are you all right there, or are you going to fall off? You could sit in the cup holder."

Derek stared at Stiles, unimpressed. "I'll be fine, as long as you don't brake suddenly. If you do, I can't be blamed for the claw marks in the upholstery."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Pride goeth before a very long fall, my friend," he quipped as he put the Jeep into gear and set off for home.

" _Claws_ , Stiles. And teeth. They're gonna meet your throat one of these days," Derek growled, folding his arms over his chest grumpily.

Stiles just laughed. "Oddly enough, that isn't much of a threat just now."

***

The sheriff was still at work when they got to the house, so Stiles didn't have to worry about taking Derek inside and carrying him up to his room. He shut the door behind them and lowered Derek onto his desk before moving to drop his jacket on the bed. "What're we going to do about clothes?" he asked thoughtfully as he bent to untie the laces on his sneakers. "You can't just wear those all the time. I bet even tiny werewolves start to smell after a while."

Derek made a face. "Hate to admit it, but you've got a point." He mulled it over for a few minutes. "Don't suppose you're any good with a needle and thread?" he asked, but it was clear he didn't hold out much hope.

Stiles actually looked offended. "I'm not awful," he answered, indignant. "Who do you think patches all my dad's jeans? And my own, for that matter. I wouldn't call myself a master tailor, though."

"Doesn't matter," Derek countered. "Not like anyone's gonna see me like this, and like hell am I going to wear doll clothes."

"Come on," Stiles teased, eyeing Derek appraisingly. "I think maybe Action Man is a little more ripped than you are but I'm sure his clothes'll fit you."

Derek bared his teeth at Stiles. "No," he said firmly. "I'm not wearing doll clothes. These'll do for now, until you make something."

Stiles glared back. "Fine, but if you want me to spend my weekend sewing, _you're_ doing my homework."

Derek rolled his eyes. "What classes are you taking?"

"The usual," Stiles answered. "English, science, history, math... economics."

Derek felt his ears perk up at the mention of science and math, and _that_ was a weird feeling. "I can definitely help you with science and math," he said confidently, not even aware of how his tail had begun wagging slightly. "English and history I'm a little sketchy on, and economics I have no clue."

Stiles smiled slowly, amused. _He_ had noticed Derek's tail wagging. "It's okay, I'm hella awesome at economics, I just don't like to let it show too often. We had a test once, and I was really bored, so instead of actually answering the last question I wrote down the entire history of male circumcision. Which leads me nicely onto my next point: I can handle history and English just fine, too."

"Cool," Derek said absently, getting to his feet and starting to wander around the top of Stiles's desk. "Could you get anymore unorganized?"

"That is organised," Stiles protested. "I know where everything is!"

Derek snorted. "Right. Well, let me see your homework, and a calculator and pencil." 

"Oh, you wanna start now?" Stiles asked, eagerly digging through his bag to produce the things Derek had asked for. It seriously pissed his math teacher off when they didn't use pencils they could keep a decent grip on, which meant that he had a pencil just the right size for Derek, because Stiles was a contrary son of a bitch who had been using the same one for about a year. He cleared a space on his desk for Derek to work and turned his computer on. "I'll see if I can work out how to break this curse while you're at it."

Derek nodded, gripping the pencil carefully and walking over to a sheet of blank paper and copying down problems before beginning to solve them. He managed to drag the calculator over as well, but it took him a while and a fair few tries before he could write steadily. 

Stiles watched him out of the corner of his eye, not willing to intervene unless Derek really needed it for fear of getting his fingers bitten. Once he could see that Derek had it under control, however, Stiles left him to it and focused on his own task.

They worked in relative silence for almost two hours before Stiles growled in frustration and started searching Google for clothing patterns instead. "I can't find anything," he huffed. "Not so much as a mention of a curse that shrinks people and turns them into furry caricatures of their inner selves, let alone a way to break it. Sorry man, I guess you'll be stuck like that for a while."

Derek let the pencil fall to the desk; he'd finished the math homework and had been doodling randomly. He moved closer to Stiles, climbing up his hoodie sleeve to settle on his shoulder so he could see the screen better. "What're you looking at now, then?"

"I'm gonna make you some clothes," Stiles announced happily. "You'll probably feel like a convict or a hospital patient, they're gonna be really simple, but they'll be clean and hopefully comfy. When was the last time you wore sweats?"

Derek shrugged. "Can't remember," he said honestly. "And like I said, I doubt anyone's gonna see me, so..."

"I'm gonna see you," Stiles pointed out as he printed a couple of patterns. "Doesn't it bother you that by the time you're back to the right size, I'm gonna have a million years' worth of ammunition against you?"

Derek shrugged. "Claws, teeth, healing, superior senses... No, can't say I'm worried. Besides, I'll have just as much ammunition against you. If you haven't noticed, I'm staying with you."

Stiles froze. He hadn't considered that. His cheeks flaming for no reason in particular, he offered his pinky to Derek. "Let's make a deal here and now. What happens while you're tiny stays between us. We will never mention any of it to any outside party. Especially Scott. Okay?"

Derek chuckled, and shook Stiles's pinky. "Deal," he agreed. "I won't talk if you don't."

Stiles grinned. "Excellent," he said, pulling his hand back with a devious smile. "Now hold still while I take your measurements."

He spent the rest of the afternoon carefully cutting out and stitching together pieces of the oldest t-shirt he owned. If it also happened to be the softest, well, just because Derek was tiny now didn't mean he couldn't be comfortable. Derek was mostly quiet while he watched, although Stiles was pretty sure he heard him laughing when he messed up the t-shirt he was making and had to start all over again. Stiles told him to shut up and be grateful he was trying to do this at all, and miraculously enough he didn't hear another peep until he was finished.

"Finished!" Stiles announced with a flourish, finally cutting the last thread before dropping the items onto his desk and sitting back. Derek now had a pair of light grey pyjamas.

Derek moved over to the clothing, picking up the pants and holding them experimentally against his front. "Seems like it'll fit," he said finally, and promptly shucked his clothes before tugging the newly-made ones on to try them. The material was soft, but before Derek registered more than that, he frowned as the waistband caught on—

"Stiles. What the hell am I supposed to do with my tail?"

Stiles immediately jumped up and grabbed the scissors. "Sorry, I didn't even think of that! Just hold still." Opening the scissors, he used one of the blades to carefully cut a small slit in the back of Derek's pants. "Okay, try now."

Derek tried again and this time he managed to get his tail through the slit. "Better," he said, wriggling his hips experimentally. He picked up the shirt once he was satisfied with the pants and tugged it on, stretching the hem and collar a little bit. "These aren't bad."

Stiles beamed. "I'll make you a t-shirt now, but you'll have to wear those jeans tomorrow; I have to start dinner before my dad gets home." He hesitated as a thought occurred to him. "I'm gonna need to make you some underwear too, aren't I?"

Derek shrugged. "I can go commando for a while, no big deal." He flushed slightly as his stomach rumbled. "Uh. Got any food for me?"

"Oh, of course," Stiles answered, holding out his hand so that Derek could climb onto it. "What do you feel like?"

Derek held onto Stiles's thumb again as he thought. "Not really picky," he decided. "Just hungry."

Stiles thought about it while he carried Derek down the stairs, and had reached a weak decision by the time they got to the kitchen. He set Derek down on the work surface and went over to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water and a block of cheese. "You can have some of the tofu burgers I'm making if you really want, but for now..." He sliced the corner off the cheese and gave it to Derek, followed by the bottle cap filled with water. "That'll have to do. I don't really allow anything wolf-friendly into the house."

Derek wrinkled his nose, picking up the cheese. "Tofu burgers? Why the hell don't you have regular burgers?"

"Because my dad can't be trusted around regular burgers," Stiles explained as he turned the oven on and found a baking tray. "It's a cholesterol thing. We eat healthy in this house."

Derek made a thoughtful noise. "Different definitions of 'healthy,'" he commented around his bite of cheese.

"I don't want my dad to die of a heart attack, all right?" Stiles snapped defensively, a little harsher than he'd intended. "He's all I've got."

Derek flinched at the defensiveness in Stiles's tone and fell silent. He could understand not wanting to lose the last family you had. Derek didn't say anything as he finished the cheese and carefully picked up the cap of water, drinking cautiously. When he was done, he wiped his hands against the pants and started exploring the counter, looking around for anything useful, like a place to hide, just in case. 

Stiles watched him, calming down fairly quickly. He hadn't meant to snap like that; his father's health was just kind of a sore point. "Here," he said at last, giving Derek another corner of cheese like it was some kind of peace offering. "To make up for the tofu burgers. I'll find you something more appetising later, okay?"

Derek took the cheese with careful fingers, nodding. "Thanks. When's your dad gonna be home?"

"Uhhh." Stiles slid the tray with the burgers on it into the oven and checked the time. "About half an hour. Shit, I guess it took longer to make those PJs than I thought. Why?"

Derek shrugged. "Just wondering; I need to get out of sight before he gets home."

Stiles nodded and held out a hand. "I'll set a timer and we can go upstairs, see if we can find something to make you a bed out of."

Derek nodded, hopping onto Stiles's hand, flinching when his tail knocked into Stiles's palm. "Jesus, that's weird," he grumbled.

"Cute, though," Stiles chuckled, using a finger to flick Derek's tail from side to side. "Can you move it, or does it just have a life of its own?"

"I... Good question." Derek tilted his head and concentrated, and managed to flick his tail back and forth. "Guess I can."

"Cool," Stiles said, smirking. It definitely wasn't always voluntary movement; he would never forget watching Derek's tail wag while he was talking about math. They went upstairs and Stiles set Derek down on the desk again while he started looking. "We could use something to actually put you in. Y'know, so you don't roll off onto the floor or something. We can pad it with cotton wool and this handkerchief I've never used. What about this?" He emerged from the bottom of his wardrobe with a square tray of lavender-scented tea lights, which he'd tried to give to Lydia for her birthday a few years ago. He emptied the candles into his wastepaper basket and set the tray down on the desk for Derek's inspection.

Derek walked around the tray, looking at it critically. It was fairly deep, and long enough that he wouldn't be cramped. "Looks good to me," he said finally.

Stiles beamed. "I'll find you some bedding, then." He lined the tray with cotton wool, with some balled-up pieces for pillows, and then provided the handkerchief as a blanket. "Never say I don't do anything for you," he said seriously as he stood back to admire his handiwork.

Derek rolled his eyes. "Right, thanks." His ears flicked, and he reached up to rub at them. "Why ears and a tail?" he growled. "They're both damned annoying. And so help me God, if you say anything about them being 'cute,' Stiles, I will find a way to make your life a living hell for as long as I'm here."

Stiles raised his gaze heavenward. "You'll get used to them," was all he said. "You wanna pick what I'm making your next shirt out of?"

"Sure." Derek scrambled up Stiles's sleeve to his shoulder. "What do I have to choose from?"

Stiles took Derek over to his chest of drawers and dug out three shirts that he never wore anymore. One was bright red, another was striped blue and green, and the third was a floral number that Scott bought him as a joke. He laid them out on the bed and stood still so Derek could look them over. "Take your pick."

Derek wrinkled his nose at the floral one. "No flowers," he said decisively. "Maybe the striped one."

Stiles laughed. "Can't blame me for trying," he reasoned, grabbing the striped shirt and returning to his desk chair. Derek's tail twitched against his neck, and he shuddered. "Sorry. Ticklish."

Derek smacked Stiles as soon as he'd righted himself. "You know I can't always control it," he grumbled. He quickly moved down Stiles's arm and back to the desk, watching Stiles as he worked. "How'd you learn to sew?"

Stiles shrugged. "My mom taught me," he answered absently as he marked out the pattern on his shirt. "She used to make all her own clothes, and I saw her doing it one day and wanted to do it, too." He sighed. "I'm not as good as her. After she died, I lost interest. But I know my way around a needle and thread."

Derek folded himself down to the tabletop so he was sitting cross-legged as he watched Stiles work. "You're doing pretty well," he said quietly.

"Thanks," Stiles murmured, a soft smile curving his lips.

They didn't say anything for several moments, and then Derek's ears twitched and he sat upright, his tail also reacting, bristling slightly. "Your dad's home."

"Good catch," Stiles said, abandoning the tiny t-shirt and standing up. "I'll be back as soon as I can, okay? You need anything?"

Derek shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Go have fun distracting your dad."

Stiles grinned and promised to bring Derek something to eat before leaving the room. The sheriff glanced up from hanging up his jacket when he heard Stiles coming down the stairs. "Hey, what's for dinner?"

"Tofu burgers," Stiles answered cheerfully. "With salad and low-fat mayo, because I'm feeling generous tonight."

The sheriff snorted. "Generous. Right. And what prompted this 'generosity,' may I ask?"

Stiles shrugged, the picture of innocence. "Can't I be in a good mood?"

The sheriff eyed his son suspiciously. "I guess," he said finally. "But usually you want something when you start letting me have stuff that's usually banned."

"I don't want anything," Stiles promised. "Except maybe some quiet this week? I have a project due in and I've kind of left it 'til the last minute, sooo..."

The sheriff nodded. "I'm gonna be busy with some cases this week, anyway," he replied. "So you'll get your quiet. Just stay out of trouble."

Stiles' grin was so wide it hurt his face. "Of course!"

***

Derek was insanely bored, and he nearly leaped on Stiles when the teenager walked back in. "Next time at least leave the laptop open," he complained.

Stiles winced. "Sorry, I didn't think," he sighed, and he seemed to be saying that a lot lately. "I managed to sneak you up some salad, though?"

Derek wrinkled his nose. "That's better than tofu burgers, how?" he quipped, but he accepted the salad anyway. 

Stiles glared. "It's the best I could do," he insisted as he sat down. "I'll go shopping tomorrow, but for now, budge over. I need to finish your shirt and if you get tomato juice on it I'll kill you."

"No you won't," Derek said confidently, nibbling on a lettuce leaf. "Did you use any dressing on this?"

"Maybe," Stiles said suspiciously. "Why?"

Derek shrugged. "Didn't taste like straight salad. Laura had a thing against dressing." He fell silent after that for a moment before he resumed eating.

Stiles bit his lip. "Sorry. I won't use it again."

Derek shook his head. "It's fine. She just... She never could eat a salad if it had dressing in it. I can't eat one without it."

Stiles smiled softly. "I'm a huge fan of dressing, personally," he offered. "My dad prefers mayo, though."

Derek offered Stiles a small smile before he focused back on eating the food in front of him. After he was done, he frowned thoughtfully. "Awkward question: what the hell am I going to do about the bathroom?"

Stiles felt his cheeks heat at the question. "Uhh, I don't know," he answered distractedly, suddenly very interested in the tiny t-shirt he was sewing together. "I guess I'm gonna have to take you? Put you down on the edge of the seat or something? Oh my God, I really hate Scott."

Derek rolled his eyes. "Trust me, I'm hating him too right about now. But yeah... unless we can figure something else out, that's probably what we're gonna have to do." He felt his ears flatten against his head as he scowled. "Fucking pot. It was just a regular cooking pot, too, nothing about it to suggest it was cursed."

Stiles quirked an eyebrow. "You'd rather it was Scott who had to help you use the bathroom?" he asked. "And what were you doing fiddling with the damn thing anyway?"

"I'd rather _no one_ had to help me to the bathroom," Derek snapped. "And I wasn't fiddling with it; I just picked the damn thing up!"

"Touchy," Stiles smirked, briefly holding up a hand. "Just chill out. We will find a way to fix you, and in the meantime, we have our little deal. He can probably work it out for himself, but it's not like I'm going to explicitly tell Scott I had to help you pee."

Derek grumbled to himself for a moment. "Whoever came up with this curse deserves an award," he muttered finally.

"Hell yes," Stiles agreed, grinning. "The whole wolf traits thing was fucking inspired."

Derek shot Stiles a withering look. "I meant, they deserve an award for creating the most annoying curse ever."

"That too, of course," Stiles added, but he was smirking. He made the last stitch on the t-shirt and tied a knot in the thread before handing it to Derek. "Dad isn't going to disturb us so I could probably make you some pants before I go to bed. You want me to put the computer back on for you?"

Derek nodded. "Yeah, that'd be good." As soon as the laptop had booted up, Derek managed to click over to Google and started aimlessly browsing through different curses.

Stiles rolled his eyes. If _he_ hadn't found anything, then Derek didn't stand a chance, but he could figure that out for himself. Stiles had a project of his own.

By the time Stiles declared Derek's new pants finished, Derek was exhausted; he couldn't operate the laptop easily. He had to be careful of how hard he stepped on the keys when attempting to type something, and he had to use his feet to maneuver the mouse around. "Christ, I can't wait to be big again."

"You and me both, pal," Stiles muttered, not unkindly. It wasn't really time for bed, but he could tell that Derek was tired, and why shouldn't he be? He'd been working hard. "You wanna get some sleep? I can go hang out with my dad for a while."

Derek nodded. "Yeah. Leave the door cracked?"

"Sure, but if you go scampering around and get caught, it's not my problem," Stiles warned.

Derek rolled his eyes, his tail flicking back and forth in annoyance. "Please. I've still got better senses than you humans."

Stiles snorted. "Yeah, okay. Sleep well, mini-wolf." He patted Derek on the head and left the room.

Derek growled at Stiles's retreating back, but he waited until he was sure the teenager was downstairs before carefully surveying the room to see what he could use to get down, and then safely back up. Eventually, he settled for jumping onto the chair, then to the slightly-ajar drawer, then to the floor. Once he was on the floor, Derek wrinkled his nose. "Christ, doesn't he ever vacuum?" he muttered to himself; the werewolf had to actually plug his nose when he walked past the wastebasket—no way did he want to smell Stiles's spunk. 

Cautiously, Derek peered around the doorframe into the hallway, suddenly glad that Stiles didn't have a pet. One less thing for him to worry about. He could smell some chemicals across the hallway that indicated the room was the bathroom; only problem was, the door was nearly shut. Derek scampered across the hallway, and rested one hand on the door, experimentally pushing. It moved slightly, and, encouraged, Derek tried again, this time with more force. The door opened an inch or two, and that was enough for Derek to squeeze through. He glanced over toward the toilet, debating. It was next to the tub, and the shower curtain was on the outside of it, so he could use that... but that meant he'd have to jump onto the seat, and he didn't fancy his chances of _not_ slipping and falling in. The Beta moved closer to the john, thinking, and let out an almost-inaudible sigh of relief when he noticed a basket that was full of magazines—thank God for people's tendency to get bored while taking a dump. The magazines put him almost level with the seat, and were a much safer and more discreet option than the shower curtain. Derek managed to jump up and get a square of toilet paper off of the roll, and he tore off a corner to use before stuffing the rest in between a few magazines. 

He debated flushing the toilet when he was done, but—well, a) he didn't want to make any noise when Stiles wasn't up here, and b) he was fairly certain Stiles was the only one who used this bathroom. Besides, being tiny meant he took tiny dumps, so it wasn't like the smell was going to get offensive anytime soon. He quickly re-situated his pants, making sure his tail was good, before he jumped back down to the floor and hurried back to Stiles's room—he wasn't even going to attempt to climb up and use the sink. 

Once he was back in Stiles's room, Derek skirted the wastebasket and used the same route to get back to the desktop—on the way up, it occurred to him that they might want to find a more inconspicuous place for his makeshift bed if they didn't want the sheriff finding it and asking inconvenient questions. Still, that was something to worry about later, because now, all Derek could think about was sleeping.

Stiles hung out with his dad until a little before midnight, and then left him watching the highlights of yesterday's game to go to bed. He took extra care to be quiet as he entered his room, a decision that proved to be wise—Derek was completely passed out in his little makeshift bed, and he looked _adorable_. Stiles found himself smiling, and he kept stealing glances at the tiny werewolf while he was getting ready for bed. They may have made a deal not to mention anything about this in company, but when they were on their own, he was never going to shut up about how cute Derek was.

Stiles was still smiling when he got into bed, facing his desk, and settled down to sleep.

***

Derek was up first the next morning, and while he couldn't see the clock from his bed, the grumbling of his stomach informed him that it was past breakfast time. Standing and stretching, Derek could see daylight through the curtains over Stiles's window, so he decided that, instead of risking scouting out the kitchen himself, he'd just wake Stiles up. 

He climbed up the bedpost and walked up to the pillow, leaning over to smack Stiles on the cheek, pulling back one eyelid. "Wake up, Stilinski. I'm hungry."

Stiles batted clumsily at Derek and sat up, knocking the werewolf on his ass. "Stilinski's my father," he slurred, voice thick with sleep. "Oh, shit, sorry." He helped Derek back to his feet and blinked down at him. "Why am I awake?"

Derek rolled his eyes, absently rubbing at his ears to smooth the fur down. "Because I woke you up, doofus. I'm hungry."

Stiles grimaced. "Okay, okay, I'll get you something, but there won't be much choice. You need to use the bathroom or anything?"

Derek shook his head. "Nah, I'm good." He tilted his head, listening intently for a moment. "Your dad's still asleep."

Stiles thought about it. "We can probably get away with sneaking you downstairs," he offered. "Or I could just bring you something. Depends whether you want to hide in my pocket if he gets up."

Derek debated for a moment before he decided, "I'll go with you. Don't want to be stuck in your room for longer than I have to be."

Stiles pulled a face. "I'm so sorry that your own stupidity means you have to be stuck bored out of your skull in my room," he snipped, even as he held out a hand so that Derek could climb on.

Derek pinched Stiles's thumb before he quickly hauled himself up to Stiles's shoulder. "I told you it was just a regular pot," he growled.

Stiles snorted. "Yeah, yeah." Downstairs, he fixed a bowl of cereal and gave Derek a teaspoon so that he could help himself. Perched on an upside down yogurt pot so that he could reach into the bowl, he kind of resembled a furry garden gnome fishing for cheerios, but Stiles didn't say that; he valued his fingers too much. "So, I was thinking about school tomorrow," he said conversationally while they ate. "Do you wanna come with, or stay here?"

Derek pulled a face. "No, thank you. Bad enough I'm tiny, no way am I staying in your bookbag or locker for several hours in a _high school_."

"Fine," Stiles chuckled. "Be that way. Just don't get yourself into any trouble while I'm gone, okay?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "I was going to sabotage the electric and loosen all the screws in the house," he deadpanned. "Just leave the laptop on and plugged in, and I'll try to do some more research or something."

"Deal," Stiles agreed, and then froze when he heard a creak upstairs. "Was that my dad?"

Derek cocked his head, listening intently. "Yeah. He's—Ew. He's in the bathroom right now." Really, Derek needed to learn to _not_ focus quite so intently.

Stiles scrunched up his nose. "Okay, we can sneak you back upstairs real quick. Have you eaten enough?"

Derek considered the question for a moment before nodding and crawling into the pocket of Stiles's sweater after Stiles had cleaned up the cereal. They made it back upstairs without incident, and spent the rest of the day researching, with breaks for Derek to dive under papers, behind the laptop, and (on one traumatising/hilarious occasion—traumatising for Derek, hilarious for Stiles) down the back of Stiles's sweatpants when Derek panicked when the sheriff managed to sneak up on them while Derek was taking a nap and Stiles was fucking around on the internet after five straight hours of turning up jackshit on a possible curse. 

Derek also told Stiles to move his bed—well, his exact words were "Either you move the bed to somewhere a little less obvious, or I sleep in _your_ bed, and you better hope you don't roll over me in your sleep"—and Stiles graciously complied. Sleeping in a cracked drawer in Stiles's nightstand wasn't much of an improvement, but at least now if the Sheriff looked in on Stiles during the night, he would be less likely to find Derek or his bed. 

The next morning, Derek's only response to Stiles's announcement that he was heading to school was to give the teenager the middle finger and grunt irritably before falling back to sleep. He hoped Scott would annoy the hell out of Stiles in school.

***

Scott, as it turned out, didn't have much chance to do anything of the sort all morning. Most of their teachers had long ago seen the error of their ways in letting Stiles and Scott sit anywhere near each other, and in the one class they could sit together, Scott was too busy talking to Allison to pay Stiles any attention. Thankfully, Lydia turned up outside of their classroom to demand Allison's presence as soon as they got out for lunch, so Stiles was able to drag Scott to an empty table in the cafeteria and make him listen.

"We have to talk about Derek," was his opening statement. "I can't find anything about how to get him back to normal. There's nothing online, Scott. _Nothing_. Do you realise that Google has never failed me before? I don't know what to do."

Scott frowned, his brow furrowing. "Really? But you're like... the master of Google. I haven't heard anything, either, and if Google's failed you, then I don't know what to do, either."

Stiles groaned. "He can't stay tiny forever; if anything, it's going to drive _me_ insane," he complained. "I hate you for sticking me with him, by the way. He's not exactly great company. And I had to _sew_."

Scott burst out into laughter. "Seriously? Oh my god, you actually had to sew him clothes?"

Stiles glared at him. "Well, he can't just wear the same thing all the time," he pointed out. "We have no idea how long he's going to be like this for. Oh my God, stop laughing!"

Scott managed to reign himself in, still snickering. "Yeah, I guess," he conceded, grinning. "Still, I can't picture him being very— _oh my God_ did you have to cut a hole for his tail?"

Stiles threw a chip at Scott's head. "Yes, I did," he answered. "Can you focus, please? What are we going to do?"

Scott took a deep breath, offering Stiles an apologetic grin. "I have no clue. I guess maybe we could hit the public library if Google's not working for us? I really don't know much about researching if it's not for a paper."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "It's exactly the same a researching for a paper, except you don't have to write the paper afterwards," he explained, exasperated. "I really don't want to leave him on his own for too long, in case he does something stupid, but I guess if you haven't found anything by the end of the week I'll come with you and take a look myself. He should have gotten the hang of being small by then."

Scott nodded. "Okay, sounds like a plan. I swear, though, whoever created that curse was a genius."

"You think so?" Stiles deadpanned, one eyebrow raised. "It's hilarious that he's short and furry, but have you forgotten the terrifying Alpha werewolf running around? How do you think Peter's going to react when he finds out Derek's out of action? Is he going to cry about it, or is he going to take advantage of the situation and kill us all?"

Scott grimaced. "Right. Maybe not so much of a genius right now."

"Without Derek, we're almost completely helpless," Stiles agreed. "So we _need_ to find out how to fix this."

Scott nodded in agreement, and the two of them put their heads together to try to determine how to fix this. 

***

Derek was bored out of his mind. 

Not that he'd ever admit such a thing, but he was. He was bored. 

B-O-R-E-D. Bored. Booooorrreeeddd. 

He'd been on the laptop most of the day, researching, but he'd turned up nothing expect some Harry Potter stuff (and somehow he didn't think that would be very helpful) and some website called "tumblr." The front page, which had required login information, had a picture of a college-age boy apparently slow-dancing with what looked like a grey alien at prom. Since the alien's face was at the guy's crotch and it appeared to be groping the kid, Derek figured he could be forgiven for not following through on that lead (Although interestingly enough, there was already a username and password entered into the required boxes.).

Still, Derek wasn't one to admit defeat on the first try, and he waved Stiles's inquires off that afternoon and the next, and the next. By Thursday, however, he really was bored and frustrated enough to actually attempt sabotaging the electric, at least in Stiles's room. Plus, if he didn't get out of the house, he'd go stir-crazy. 

"I'm coming with you," he announced Thursday morning. "I'm not doing any good here."

"Really?" Stiles asked, surprised. "Uhh, okay. I guess you can hang out in my bag. Just, don't let anyone see you, okay? And try not to suffocate."

Derek rolled his eyes. "I'm bored, not stupid and suicidal," he quipped.

"Yeah, yeah." Stiles grabbed his bag and rummaged around inside it, trying to settle things so that it would be comfortable for a tiny person to spend the day inside. "Okay, no sharp pencils for you to accidentally impale yourself on. Hop in."

Derek climbed in, settling himself in the corner. "Remember, if you throw this thing around, I'll get you back in your sleep."

Stiles didn't even dignify that with a response.

At school, it was kind of hard to check on Derek except at the beginning and end of each class, when books needed to be swapped out of his bag. Still, he seemed to be handling it okay, even if he looked a little pissed, probably at being jostled around so much. It wasn't until third period that Stiles realised it might be hot in there, and that he should probably find a way to get some fluid into Derek. His teacher looked at him like he'd grown an extra head when he unscrewed the cap on his water bottle and slipped a straw inside, but he just smiled blithely and took a few sips before placing the bottle on the floor, carefully angling the straw towards the opening of his bag. Derek would need to get creative to get high enough in the bag to reach it, but Stiles had faith in him. Werewolves were good at that shit, even when they were tiny.

It was hot inside the bag, and Derek was grateful that Stiles had thought of the water bottle. Still, the water only helped with the thirst; it couldn't help with the noises and smells that were overwhelming Derek's senses. He was used to a lot of noise and scents, given that he was a born werewolf, but experiencing them as tiny only seemed to increase the experience to the point where he couldn't just block it out. It was making him edgy, and that was why, when Stiles reached into his bookbag in the middle of class for a fresh pen, Derek reacted off of instinct—and instinct told him to treat every unexpected intrusion as a threat.

Stiles had no hope of containing his reaction. He'd just wanted a new pen, his old one having given up the ghost, and he'd expected Derek to just get out of the way—or maybe, if he'd had some sort of personality transplant, to actually hand him what he was groping for. He certainly hadn't expected the sharp sting of tiny claws gouging into the back of his hand, and he pulled back with a loud cry. " _Motherfucker_!"

"Is there a problem, Mr. Stilinski?" his teacher asked, irritated.

Stiles flushed, his hand cradled to his chest. He was pretty sure it was bleeding. "No, no. I just gave myself a papercut," he lied. The teacher rolled her eyes and returned her attention to the board, even as Scott spun in his seat to give Stiles a concerned look. Sure that no one else would see, Stiles took his other hand away from his injured one and showed him the bloody claw marks. " _Derek_ ," he mouthed, bewildered.

Scott was just as bewildered as Stiles, but they didn't have a chance to try to figure out what was wrong with Derek until after the bell rang, signaling the start of lunch. Scott led the way to the bathrooms, and ducked into the boys'. "Let me see your hand," he demanded, dropping his own bookbag to the ground.

Stiles offered it to Scott without a word, his own bag still hoisted high on his shoulder. His hand was stinging, throbbing in time with the beat of his heart, and he was more than a little bitter. "'Don't bite the hand that feeds you'," he bitched, mostly to Scott though he knew Derek could hear. "That's what I told him, and okay, he didn't _bite_ me, but what the fuck did I do to deserve this? It _hurts_."

Scott frowned thoughtfully at Stiles's hand. "Lemme see your bag," he said, carefully taking it from Stiles's shoulder and gently setting it on the sink. As soon as he unzipped the first inch, he could smell the stress coming off of Derek. Sure enough, the Beta was pressed as far back into one corner as he could get, ears flat against his head, eyes flashing blue, claws out, teeth bared, and tail fluffed out to twice its size. 

"Dude, he's stressing, majorly. I saw you give him water, so I don't think it's dehydration..." Scott noticed the way Derek winced when he spoke. "I think his ears hurt," he said, lowering his voice to a murmur. "Maybe that curse fucked with his senses, and he's just overwhelmed and stressed."

Stiles grimaced, feeling immediately guilty. Of course the school would be a lot for Derek, all those sounds and smells intensified while he was so small. Stiles reached out and took the bag back, murmuring an apology to Derek as he carefully pulled the zip closed again, leaving only a small opening in the hope of giving Derek some reprieve. "I'm gonna take him home," he told Scott. "I've got time to get back before our next class, and he shouldn't have to spend the whole day like this."

Scott shook his head. "You shouldn't leave him alone, not when he's this stressed. Skip lacrosse practice, I'll cover for you so you can get home quicker. But unless you wanna skip the rest of the day, I wouldn't bother. You'd probably get home and find he's trashed your room or something because he's so stressed and needed to take it out on something."

"But he's only gonna get more stressed if I keep him here!" Stiles argued, frustrated. "Just—hang on." They were forgetting the most important person in all this. Stiles put his bag back on the sink and pulled on the zipper a little, catching sight of Derek huddled in the corner when he peeked inside. He looked miserable. Stiles made an extra effort to keep his voice soft when he spoke. "You wanna go home, buddy?"

Derek shook his head; if he went back to the Stilinski house, he'd be alone, and that was the last thing he wanted or needed. He needed something close to pack, and right now, that was Stiles.

Stiles sighed. He didn't understand, but he couldn't argue. "Okay. Will you be all right for the next few hours?"

Derek shrugged, pulling his knees to his chest defensively. He'd survive, yeah, but he wouldn't like it; thankfully, Scott had an idea. "Hey, Stiles; put one of your shirts in there. I think he might do better if he had a familiar scent to help blanket the strange ones, and the shirt will help muffle the noise."

Stiles began to protest, but then he realised—it was actually a pretty good idea. "Yeah, yeah, okay." He was wearing an open button-down over today's wacky t-shirt, largely to appease his more conservative teachers, and he shrugged it off before folding it and pushing it into his bag. "How's that?" he asked quietly, peering into the bag to make sure he hadn't smothered Derek.

Derek immediately burrowed into the folds of the shirt, relaxing as Stiles's scent immediately covered the others fighting for his attention. The fabric also muffled the cacophony of sounds, and he let out a tiny sigh of relief.

Stiles smiled. "Okay, buddy," he whispered. "We'll leave you in peace." He met Scott's gaze as he zipped the bag back up, lifting one shoulder in a helpless shrug. Apparently Derek being so little was going to be even more challenging than they'd thought.

Derek ended up sleeping through the rest of the school day, only waking up when Stiles opened the bag back at his house. Derek blinked blearily at Stiles, frowning for a moment, before realizing what had happened. He flushed, embarrassed at being caught showing so much weakness, and quickly scurried from Stiles's bag to the bedside table, jumping into his drawer and into the bed to hide under the covers. Didn't exactly help the tough front he'd wanted to keep up, but he couldn't really bring himself to care at the moment. 

Well, at least he hadn't been bored today.

Stiles didn't quite know what to make of this development, but he figured Derek wouldn't have disappeared if he didn't need the space. He left well enough alone, and spent an hour or so doing homework while he tried to ignore how unsettling the quiet was. How had he gotten so used to having Derek around after only a few days?

He occupied himself for as long as he could, but at last it began to grow dark and Stiles knew that his dad would be home soon. If Derek wanted to move around freely and get something to eat without being caught, he would have to do so soon. Sighing, Stiles got up and moved to sit on the edge of his bed, tapping lightly on the drawer the werewolf was using as a bedroom. "Derek?" he asked softly. "You comin' out, man?"

Derek debated ignoring Stiles, but then his stomach rumbled. "Yeah, I'm coming," he called, shoving the makeshift blankets off of himself and carefully pulling himself out of the drawer. "What've we got for food?"

"I'm making pasta," Stiles answered, offering his hand to Derek. That actually hadn't been the plan when he'd been thinking about dinner that morning, but he figured Derek deserved a treat after the day he'd had, and his dad did, too. "The meat's lean, but it's actual meat; none of that tofu shit. Sound good?"

Derek nodded, stepping onto Stiles's hand. "What kind of sauce?"

"Tomato." Stiles carried Derek downstairs and set him on the worktop with some parsley leaves to shred while he worked on cutting up some veg. "You wanna talk about what happened today?" he asked hesitantly after a few minutes of silence, watching Derek out of the corner of his eye.

Derek shook his head. "What's there to tell?" he asked, a little bitterly, as he shredded the parsley efficiently. "Got overwhelmed."

"You seemed really upset when we got home," Stiles pressed. "I don't get why."

Derek just glared at Stiles. "Don't want to talk," he said shortly, scooping the parsley into a pile and pushing it towards Stiles.

"Fine." Stiles shrugged, and walked away to fetch the meat from the fridge.

***

Derek went with Stiles again the next day, because he was a stubborn bastard and wasn't about to let a _high school_ get the best of him. This time he started off with Stiles's shirt in the bookbag with him, and it was an immediate improvement over the previous day; Derek never thought he'd be glad to have Stiles's scent constantly in his nose. 

At lunch, Stiles and Scott put their bookbags on the table to help shield Derek from prying eyes; it was raining just enough to discourage outdoor eating, so they couldn't go outside and let Derek stretch his legs out there. "Your math teacher was making that equation way more complicated than it had to be," Derek informed Stiles. "It could've been done much more quickly in three steps, and it would've also been easier to understand."

Stiles, who had been frustrated and snappy since that class, perked up considerably at the news. "Really?" he asked, interested. "You'll have to show me when we get home."

Scott looked between the two of them. "Derek knows math?" he blurted. 

Derek rolled his eyes, swallowing his bite of apple. "Yes, _Derek_ does," he said, glaring pointedly at Scott, who had the grace to look embarrassed. "I did go through high school and college."

Stiles kind of wanted to be able to judge Scott too, but he had to admit that at least part of what Derek just said was a surprise. "You went to college?"

Derek shrugged. "Yeah. Bachelor's in Science. Was thinking about going on, there was a good genetics program that was offering me a free ride, but then..." But then Laura left and didn't come back.

Stiles nodded, understanding. "Maybe at a later date," he offered awkwardly. "That doesn't sound like the kind of offer that just goes away."

"Maybe," Derek allowed, but then his ears twitched as the bell rang and he dove for the bookbag, wriggling back inside Stiles's shirt. 

Scott picked his own bookbag up. "Wouldn't have thought Derek was a science and math guy," he mused.

Stiles shrugged and made sure that Derek was settled before shouldering his bag. "I guess it makes sense, in a weird way," he said as they made their way towards their next class. "He's very particular. Science and math are generally about using the right method and getting the right answer, not, like, interpreting stuff and hoping for the best." He grinned. "No wonder he hates me."

Scott chuckled at that. "You do usually just go for your best guess," he agreed. 

The rest of the day passed smoothly, but then the final bell rang and Scott was giving Stiles a look that said he really shouldn't be considering skipping practice again. He sighed and waited until the classroom was mostly empty before pulling his bag up onto the desk. "Hey, Derek?" he whispered, peeking inside. "Do you need to go home, or can you handle another hour or so?"

Derek poked his head out of the shirt, considering. "Yeah, I can make it a little bit longer. Practice?"

"Yeah," Stiles answered, feeling a little guilty. "I'll bring my bag out onto the field so you're not stuck in the locker room, okay?"

Derek nodded. "Yeah, that'll be fine. Leave it open a bit so I can watch?" If he was going to be stuck out there, at least he could be entertained.

Stiles snorted. He was used to embarrassing himself on the field, but not in front of Derek. Still, he could hardly refuse. "Yeah, sure."

***

Derek was highly entertained during practice; the locker room had been tough, but once they were out on the field, Derek had the time of his life laughing at the players. A few of them were actually fairly good, but the rest were making rookie mistakes—leaving themselves wide open, being unprepared for the ball, things like that. When practice was over and he and Stiles were headed back to the Stilinski house, Derek climbed out of the bookbag and sat on top of it so he could talk. "That was fun," he snickered. "I can see why Beacon Hills isn't the best lacrosse team around."

Stiles snorted. "If it weren't for Jackson, Danny and now Scott, we wouldn't even make it past the first game of the season," he agreed. "But it's fun. It's something to do, and my dad thinks it keeps me out of trouble. He was so proud when I told him I was starting, I wanted to be sick."

Derek nodded solemnly. "Beacon Hills used to be a pretty peaceful place," he said quietly. "I miss that."

"Well, it's not your problem just now," Stiles said cheerfully. "You're so little the most you could do is bite Peter's ankle; it's so not your fight until you're big again."

Derek snorted. "Yeah, and that's another reason I need to get big again soon. He's not gonna wait forever."

Stiles suppressed a shudder. "Well, let's not tempt fate, okay?"

Derek nodded in agreement, and the two were silent for the rest of the ride home.

Derek was bored, yet again. This time, it was because the laptop had died spectacularly and Stiles had yet to fix it—but at least Stiles couldn't blame Derek for it being broken, as the human had been the one using it when it flashed the blue screen of death before cutting off completely. Stiles was working on English homework, and Derek wasn't interested in any of the books on his shelves. "I'm going to go outside," he announced abruptly, getting to his feet.

"What?" Stiles barely glanced up. "No, you're not. Just give me an hour or so and I'll take you out, okay?"

Derek bristled. "You're not the boss of me," he snapped, his eyes flashing blue. "I can go outside if I damn well please."

Stiles rolled his eyes and dropped his pen, turning to fix Derek with an unimpressed look. "Dude, you're the same height as my thumb; you're not going outside by yourself. What if you fall or get eaten by a bird or something? No way. Just be patient."

"I'm also a werewolf," Derek argued. "I'll be fine; I won't even leave the porch roof, if you're that worried about it. But I'm not sitting here for an hour with my thumbs up my ass waiting for you to take me out _for a walk_ like some _dog_."

"I know you're not a dog," Stiles snorted, annoyed. "Don't be so ridiculous. I just don't want you to get hurt."

Derek rolled his eyes. "Right. Because me living makes your life _so_ much easier." He got to his feet and started walking towards the windowsill.

"Oh my _God_ ," Stiles groaned, seizing his pen and spinning to face away from Derek. "You really think that? Then fine. Go and be a stubborn asshole, but don't come crying to me when you get yourself into trouble."

"'Don't come crying to me,'" Derek mimicked under his breath as he tugged the bottom half of the window up so he could step out on the porch roof. It was nearing dusk, but that didn't really make much of a difference to Derek's eyes. It felt good to be outside, and he spent a good hour just sitting on the edge of the porch and idly kicking his feet, just enjoying the breeze. It felt odd in his fur, but it was a good odd. He was starting to get used to have these ears and tail. 

Whatever he'd said, Stiles kept an ear out for Derek the whole time he was outside, worried that something would happen to him. It was getting late, though, and Stiles didn't want to just leave him out there while he went downstairs to start dinner. Still, he didn't want to call Derek in for that reason, either; it felt too much like admitting defeat. Instead, he got up and crossed the room to stick his head out of the window. "Hey, you done out there? I'm freezing."

Derek seriously considered ignoring Stiles, but he finally sighed and got to his feet. "Yeah, I'm done," he said, climbing back in the window. "Told you I'd be fine."

"Congratulations," Stiles sighed, stepping back. "I'm gonna go down and start cooking. You wanna come?"

Derek shook his head. "I'm gonna hang out here for a bit then go get a bath."

Stiles bit his lip, torn. "Wait 'til I get back, okay?" he asked quietly.

Derek felt the anger that had begun to cool while he was outside flare back to life. "For fuck's sake, I'm not an _invalid_ ," he snarled.

"Jesus Christ, I'm not saying that you are!" Stiles cried. "Just—Wait for me, okay? Thank you." He left the room before Derek could argue.

Derek spent a good fifteen minutes just fuming, pacing back and forth angrily on the desk before he finally decided he was going to get a bath, and _without_ Stilinski's help, thank you very much. 

Unfortunately, while he managed to get everything together on the counter, he hadn't taken into account the fact that the Stilinskis weren't like normal people; they didn't have a shallow bath sink, they had a deep one, almost a foot deep. Still, Derek was nothing if not a stubborn bastard, and he wasn't about to admit defeat and ask for Stiles's help. He jumped on the little lever to close the plug, and then started the water running. He let the sink fill up three-quarters of the way before he cut the water off. Everything went fine—he took his clothes off, stacked them neatly, and slid down into the sink, frowning slightly at how weird the water felt, plastering the fur on his tail down. After a few minutes, he grabbed the body wash and scrubbed himself down, ducking under the water to rinse himself off. 

He surfaced and reached for the shampoo cap, where he'd put the amount of shampoo he'd need, only to find it just out of his reach. He growled, irritated, and stretched, but it was still too far out of his reach. This time, he lunged for it, only for his foot to slip and knock him off-balance. He couldn't find his balance again, and he slid under the surface, splashing frantically, trying to keep his head above the water, and failing.

Stiles was making his way back up the stairs when he heard the splashing and he paused, unsure. "Derek?" he called. "Hey, you okay, man?" His only answer was more splashing, and for a second Stiles thought that Derek was just being a dick, but then he heard something unmistakable: the terrified yowl of a tiny werewolf in distress. Stiles took the rest of the stairs two at a time and burst into the bathroom, immediately spotting the problem. "Holy shit!" he cried, racing over to the sink and plucking Derek from the water. "Shit, fuck, are you okay?"

Derek sputtered and coughed, flailing weakly at Stiles until the teen set him down on the counter where he could grab a washcloth to wrap himself up in. "I was," he rasped, coughing again. "Until I went for the shampoo." Distantly, Derek realized he was shaking hard enough that he was having trouble holding onto the washcloth. 

Stiles noticed. "Okay, okay," he said soothingly. "Are you done preserving your modesty? Come here." He scooped Derek up, washcloth and all, and cupped a hand around him as he hurried back to his room.

Derek didn't protest the treatment, in fact he burrowed into the washcloth(and really, since when was he acting more squirrel- than wolf-like? It was downright embarrassing) and just waited to see what Stiles would do next. He tried to keep himself even slightly calm through deep breathing, but that was kind of hard to do when it still felt like the water was going to close over his head any moment. 

Stiles sat down at his desk but didn't let Derek go, opting instead to keep him close, rubbing at his little shoulders with a fingertip. Derek was still shaking. "Hey, hey, you're okay," Stiles crooned. "You're safe; you're on dry, uh, hand. Just breathe for me, buddy, come on."

Stiles's words echoed strangely, but Derek fought to focus and obey them. Miraculously, that seemed to work; breathing was getting slightly easier. He was mortified to realize he was whimpering, and turned his head to try to hide the flush staining his cheeks. God, could this get any worse? Derek had survived going outside only to almost drown, Jesus.

"Stop that," Stiles commanded, his voice quiet but firm. "Whatever you're thinking right now. Stop it. Don't beat yourself up; it was an accident, and it was scary as fuck. You're not the only one who's freaking out, okay?" It was true. All Derek had to do was focus and he would hear the racing of Stiles' heart; see the sweat on his brow; feel the slight tremble in his hands. But Stiles wasn't letting it overwhelm him, and he needed Derek to do the same. "Talk to me. Tell me what we had for breakfast this morning."

Derek tried to obey, but it took several tries before he could get his throat to work. "We, uh... Pancakes. We had pancakes. With... With strawberries."

Stiles smiled, soft and encouraging. "That's right, we did. And for lunch?"

It was getting a little easier to focus, now that his heartbeat wasn't pounding in his ears. "Sandwiches. Turkey sandwiches. With lettuce and tomato."

"Right again," Stiles praised. "But now for the big challenge. Can you use your wolfy nose and tell me what we're having for dinner?"

Derek made himself take several deep breaths before he tried to follow Stiles's request; when he did, he could smell vegetables, sauce, and cooking meat. "Stir fry?" he guessed.

Stiles positively beamed. "Dingdingding, we have a winner!" he chuckled. "And you're lucky I put it on a low light, otherwise the correct answer would be charcoal. You feel okay to come downstairs and help me finish up?"

Derek nodded slowly. "Clothes, first?" he requested, his voice small—shit, he'd had plenty of near-death experiences, but nothing had ever shaken him as badly as this had.

"Yeah, of course," Stiles said, setting Derek down on the desk while he got up to fetch his pajamas. He'd washed them in the sink before school that morning and left them to dry on his radiator, so they were nice and warm when he handed them over.

"Thanks." Derek quickly pulled the clothes on, grateful for the heat. "And... thanks, for saving me," he added, his voice quiet, but not quite grudging.

Stiles smiled. "What else was I going to do?" he asked lightly, holding a hand out for Derek. "I know you seem to think that I don't care if you live or die, but that's not true."

Derek shrugged. "Scott doesn't like me," he pointed out, climbing onto Stiles's hand. "Haven't exactly done anything to make you like me, either."

"Okay, so maybe I haven't been your biggest fan," Stiles conceded as they headed down the stairs. "But in all fairness, you haven't exactly been mine either. And I'm still a little bitter about the whole smashing my face into the steering wheel thing, because maybe I deserved it, but you have superstrength and it _hurt_ , man." He laughed, but then went quiet, serious. "You could have just let me die in the hospital. It would've worked out better for you; Peter wouldn't have known that you knew he was the Alpha, and you'd have had the time to come up with a real plan on how to beat him. But you came in and saved me, and got your ass kicked as a reward. How can I hate you after that?"

Well, geez, don't pull any punches there, Stiles. Go ahead and make Derek feel like a complete dick. He didn't comment on Stiles's words until they were in the kitchen and Stiles was poking at the stir fry, Derek sitting on the kitchen counter next to the stove. "I couldn't stand by and let someone else die because of me," he said finally.

In the silence that had followed his words, Stiles had known that it was the wrong thing to say, but now he winced, feeling horribly guilty. "No one's died because of you," he said gently, purposefully keeping his attention on the stir fry. "None of this is your fault." Derek didn't say anything for a few moments, and when he spoke, it was just to ask what Stiles needed his help with.

***

They were subdued for the rest of the night, only talking to each other when they had to and sitting in not-quite-companionable silence the rest of the time. When the sheriff got home, Stiles took Derek upstairs and left him there for a few hours while he talked to his father about his day and made sure he didn't smother his stir fry in salt. By the time Stiles made it back into his room, Derek was in his drawer, either asleep or pretending to be. It had been a tough day for everyone, and Stiles didn't want to disturb him either way, so he just flicked on his desk lamp and set about doing some more homework.

Derek still hadn't budged an hour later when Stiles finally laid his pen to rest, silently vowing to ask Danny to fix his laptop tomorrow. Doing this shit by hand was surprisingly hard work. As he put everything away and got changed for bed, his gaze inevitably strayed towards Derek's drawer more than once. Stiles wondered if he was okay, if he should open the drawer and ask, but decided against it. Derek might well actually be asleep, and if he wasn't, he clearly didn't want to talk to Stiles right now. Instead, Stiles shut the light off and climbed into bed, fully prepared for a night of undisturbed rest.

Ten minutes later, he heard the drawer creak as Derek pushed it open.

Derek had been tossing and turning for the past few hours, unable to get to sleep; even when he pushed the drawer open, he didn't immediately emerge. By the time he climbed out, it was a little past midnight. Stiles's heartbeat suggested he was almost asleep, and Derek considered just going back to bed, but for once, he actually wanted to talk. 

So he carefully made his way across the bedside table and pillow, sitting down and tentatively reaching out to poke Stiles in the forehead. "Stiles?" he whispered. "You awake?"

Stiles cracked an eye open and peered at Derek. "Yeah," he whispered back, carefully rolling onto his side. "What is it?"

"You were wrong." Okay, that probably wasn't the proper place to start, but too late now. "About earlier," Derek added. "People have died because of me."

Stiles sighed. "You didn't know Peter was psycho," he murmured. "You couldn't have known. As far as you were concerned, he was a vegetable."

Derek shook his head. "No, I mean why Peter was in that hospital in the first place. The fire."

Stiles blinked, but otherwise remained perfectly still. "What do you mean?" he breathed.

"I mean, it's my fault the fire happened. That my family couldn't get out," Derek whispered. "I gave her everything she needed, and she used it to kill them. And now Peter's insane, and he bit Scott, and he's killed people."

"Do you mean Kate Argent?" Stiles gasped, feeling sick. "You helped her set the fire?"

"Might as well have," Derek muttered. I was at school when it happened, but she used the information I gave her after... after to trap them."

Stiles took a breath. "After what?" he pressed. "What happened?"

Derek was quiet for several moments. "After sex," he eventually admitted. 

"You _slept_ with her?"

Derek flinched at Stiles's tone. "I know it was stupid, alright?" he snapped defensively. "But I was sixteen and the awkward basketball player, and she was older and just..." Derek turned his head away, ashamed. It was so stupid to think about, now; so obvious what Kate was angling for the entire time she'd been "with" him. "I thought I could trust her; I told her about my family, but she must've already suspected, at least. She certainly wasn't as surprised as she should have been," he continued, his voice flat. "But our pack was big enough that there were never more than half of the members at the house at any time. She started asking questions about my pack, looking for weak spots. I told her about Peter—he's never been really stable, and if he was losing control, the whole pack was needed to keep him subdued. Once she knew that, I guess she had all the information she needed. She shot one of Peter's kids with wolfsbane so everyone would panic. Everyone but me and Laura was at the house when she trapped them and lit the house on fire. She stopped by the school on her way out of town to tell me."

Stiles took a moment to absorb all of this, but in the end it wasn't too difficult to reach a conclusion. "Hey," he whispered, lifting a hand to turn Derek's face towards him with a finger under his chin. "Look at me. It wasn't your fault."

Derek snorted disbelievingly. "Did you plug your ears while I was talking? I gave her everything she needed to kill my _pack._ "

"But you didn't know," Stiles insisted softly. "You didn't do it on purpose. You wouldn't have told her all that stuff if you thought she was dangerous."

"That doesn't make it better," Derek argued. "I should have known she was dangerous; I'm a born wolf, I was raised to be wary of strange people."

"She's older than you, right?" Stiles asked abruptly. "Was she your first?"

Derek shrugged. "First to have sex with, yeah. Not the first one I thought I was in love with."

"But you thought you were in love with her," Stiles pushed. "Maybe you were. I'm not making excuses, but things get messy when love and sex are involved. It sounds like she was really manipulative. She didn't want you to be wary of her, so you weren't."

Derek snorted. "Just like that damned pot," he muttered. "It didn't look dangerous; but nothing else survived the fire."

"But you said before that touching the pot wasn't your fault, because you couldn't have possibly known that it was cursed," Stiles argued. "Why can't you say the same about Kate?"

"Because it was just a pot, for Christ's sake! No one expects a pot to be dangerous," Derek answered, his voice heated. "Kate was a _human_ , a _hunter_ ; hunters are dangerous."

Stiles clenched his teeth, but he didn't let his own frustration show. "Did you know she was a hunter?" he asked instead.

"No, but there were signs I should have been able to pick up on," Derek muttered.

"You can't do this to yourself," Stiles said softly. "Hindsight is a wonderful thing, and a terrible one. Just because the signs were there doesn't mean you could have picked up on them. She pulled the wool over your eyes, and there's no shame in that."

Derek didn't answer Stiles for a few moments. "I guess," he said finally. "I just—I hate being helpless, but it seems like I can't avoid it." Then he let himself voice the fear that had been gradually growing stronger over the past few days. "I'm starting to think I won't ever be big again," he confessed softly.

Stiles sighed and cupped a hand around Derek's form, pulling him a little closer. "You'll be big again," he promised. "Even if we have to resurrect the witch who cursed the pot and threaten to kill her again if she doesn't reverse it, we'll work it out."

Derek stiffened when Stiles pulled him close, but when the teen didn't show any sign of moving his hand, Derek slowly relaxed. "Okay," he whispered, curling up in a way that shouldn't have been comfortable but was—in all honesty, he actually looked like a squirrel when he curled up like this, with his knees to his chest, his head pillowed on his folded arms, and his tail wrapping around himself. "Okay."

They fell asleep like that, and Stiles didn't move his hand all night.

***

The next day, Derek chose to stay home; after last night's discussion, he really didn't want to deal with the chaos that was high school. He stayed curled up on Stiles's pillow, dozing through the teen's morning preparations, and by the time the Jeep was rattling down the street, Derek was lost to the world.

Which wasn't exactly a good thing; he stayed asleep for a few hours, and he was only disturbed by the cruiser pulling into the driveway. He was still groggy, though, and it didn't occur to him that maybe he should get off of the bed and out of sight before the sheriff stuck his head into his son's room out of habit, to make sure Stiles hadn't taken advantage of his father's late shift _again_. He got a rather nasty surprise when something decidedly humanoid, but with claws, pointed ears, and a _tail_ lifted its head and blinked at him.

The sheriff blinked back, stepped out of Stiles's room, counted to three, and then stepped back inside, but nope—the creature was still there. A glance at his watch told him that Stiles would be in lunch right now, so the elder Stilinski called his son. "Are you aware that there's a furry... _thing_ with claws and a tail on your pillow?"

Stiles felt like someone had frozen his insides. He jumped to his feet, but didn't know what to do after that, so he answered his father. "Yes, I was aware," he said into the phone, flailing ineffectually at Scott so that he stood up, too. "What have you done? You didn't hurt him, did you? He's not a rat!"

"Hurt him?" the sheriff echoed, baffled. "I haven't even— _holy God_." The thing—person—him— _whatever it was_ had just stood up, and if the sheriff didn't know any better, he'd think that was a miniature Derek Hale. The sheriff and it stood looking at each other for a few long moments before the sheriff weakly said, "I think you better get home now. I'll send you a note tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm on my way," Stiles muttered, already groping in his pocket for his keys as he hurried out of the school, Scott right behind him. "Just don't do anything, okay? And tell him I'll be there soon."

"He" nodded like he'd heard Stiles over the phone, and the sheriff didn't even bother answering Stiles before he hung up. He cautiously stepped further into the room, keeping a wary eye on the little creature now sitting on Stiles's pillow, but aside from a slowly-moving tail and a tilted head, the creature didn't display any reaction to the sheriff's proximity. He dropped into Stiles's desk chair, and waited. "God, I figured he was up to something, but not _mutating humans_ , Jesus," he muttered.

The thing snorted, and the sheriff almost fell out of his chair. "To be fair—" _Holy shit that was Derek's voice_ "—this is all my fault, not Stiles's. He's just the poor bastard who got stuck making sure I didn't get eaten by a hawk or cat or something."

Stiles arrived home in half the time it would take him if he'd kept to the speed limit, but for once he didn't think his dad would care. Scott had stayed behind after Stiles reasoned that his dad could probably only handle one thing at a time, and that any trouble he had believing what he was being told could be assuaged by Derek's very existence. Slamming the door of his jeep and not even pausing to apologise to her in his haste, Stiles let himself into the house and flew up the stairs to his room—where he found Derek and his dad sitting in total silence, staring at each other. Both seemed shaken but, miraculously, unharmed.

"Hey," Stiles said stupidly, letting his suddenly wobbly legs fold until he was kneeling on the carpet in the doorway. "How's it going?"

"It would be going better if I knew exactly what was going on," the sheriff muttered. 

Derek snorted. "I'm Derek Hale; you should remember me."

"Yeah, I do. That's not the problem. The problem is that you are approximately sixteen times smaller than you were the last time I saw you, and you definitely didn't have the ears, claws, or tail."

"Uhh, actually," Stiles interrupted. "He did have the claws. But you're right, he's not supposed to be that small. You see..." He took a deep breath. "Derek is a werewolf, and he accidentally touched a magic pot that turned him into a tiny, furry version of himself."

The sheriff stared at Stiles. "Right," he said disbelievingly. "You expect me to believe you've entered, what, _Beauty and the Beast_?"

Derek cleared his throat before jumping off the bed and walking over to Stiles. "It's true; I'm a born werewolf. There's a lot about this world that is dismissed as myth but is really true."

Stiles didn't even think about it; he just dropped his hand to the floor so that Derek could climb on and then picked him up, keeping him close. "You're looking at a miniature Derek Hale with furry ears and a tail, and you're telling me you don't believe us? What explanation would you prefer?"

The sheriff watched the easy way the two interacted warily. "How long has this been going on?" he asked abruptly. 

"About a month ago was when I picked up that pot," Derek answered. 

"No," the sheriff said impatiently. "The whole hanging-out-with-werewolves thing."

Stiles winced. "Uhhh. Since you found Laura Hale's body in the woods?"

The sheriff rubbed his temples. "And how, exactly, did you get involved with the werewolves?"

"When—" Derek started to answer, but the sheriff cut him off. 

" _Son_ ," he said, raising one eyebrow meaningfully.

Stiles sighed. He couldn't lie, not anymore—even if it was to protect his best friend. "When one bit Scott."

" _What?!_ " The Sheriff got to his feet, only to freeze when Derek growled warningly, his eyes changing color. 

"Peter Hale bit him," Derek said shortly. "We've been trying to take Peter down."

Stiles automatically tucked Derek closer to his chest, hoping to both shield and soothe him. "Sit down or we're not going to tell you anything else," he said to his dad. "Everyone has to be calm for this conversation."

Derek grumbled but settled, still watching the sheriff warily. The sheriff, for his part, obeyed his son and sat back down. Derek poked Stiles in the chest. "Get on the bed," he murmured, his tail twitching agitatedly. "Don't like you lower than him."

Stiles didn't think his dad would appreciate that, but he did as Derek asked anyway, mentally justifying the move with the bed was more comfortable than the floor. Once everyone was mostly happy with the seating arrangements, he turned back to the sheriff. "Peter Hale is the one behind all the murders and attacks you've been investigating, including the ones Scott and I pinned on Derek. But we didn't know that until really recently."

The sheriff frowned when Stiles moved, but since it seemed to make Derek more comfortable, he didn't comment. "So... Why has he been biting and killing people, exactly?"

"Because he's insane," Derek said matter-of-factly. "The fire killed our pack, and he couldn't stand it."

"But we're dealing with it," Stiles said hastily. " _You_ can't. I need you to stay out of this."

"People are _dying_ , Stiles," the elder Stilinski protested. "You can't expect me to just sit by and watch a couple of _teenagers and a werewolf_ try to stop the insane werewolf!" Saying it out loud like that made the sheriff feel insane himself. 

"So what are you going to do?" Stiles demanded. "You've seen what Peter can do to people, Dad. If you and the guys turn up with guns, like you always do, he's gonna rip you all to shreds. At least Derek, Scott and me have some idea of what we're doing."

"That's not exactly comforting. One of you is shrunk, the other's a newly-turned werewolf—which I'm assuming isn't doing Scott many favors—and the other is just a human," the sheriff argued. 

"Stiles is one of the best humans I've met," Derek snapped, getting to his feet and growling menacingly. "If anyone can figure out a way to break my curse or take down Peter, it's him."

"What?" Stiles asked, turning to gape at Derek. "You really think that?"

Derek shifted uncomfortably; he hadn't really meant to say that out loud. "Yeah," he answered. "I mean, you figured out how to help Scott keep from shifting at school."

Stiles smiled softly, surprised and touched, and then looked back at his father. "See? Derek has faith in me. Why can't you?"

The sheriff couldn't argue with that. "I do," he sighed. "But I'm not letting the three of you deal with this completely on your own."

Stiles exchanged a look with Derek. "Okay," he sighed. " _Okay_. You can help. A tiny bit. And you can start by helping us figure out how to reverse this spell."

"And... how do you think I can do that?" the sheriff asked slowly. "Until today, I didn't believe magic existed."

That was actually a really good point. Stiles sat back, stumped. Having his dad on side made things easier in the being-able-to-tell-the-truth department, but not in any other ways. It wasn't like he was a teacher at Hogwarts who could let them access the restricted section to get the information they needed; he was a cop who dealt with criminals all day, not witches or—It hit Stiles like a brick to the face.

"But you knew Satanists did," he said, grinning. How had he not thought of this before? "Didn't you say you disbanded a cult years ago, and confiscated some books from them? Not because they were real, you said, but because the stuff in them was really dark. Would you still have them at the station?"

"I might," the sheriff said thoughtfully. "You really think they could help?"

"Internet hasn't," Derek muttered.

Stiles shot him a hard look. "They might," he answered his father. "If they're real, they probably will. I haven't been able to get my hands on any real spellbooks because, _hello_ —" He pointed to himself; "—high school kid and—" He pointed to Derek; "—miniature werewolf. The internet is full of hippies and crazy people, and Google Books only takes you so far."

The sheriff nodded. "Fair point," he conceded. "I'll see if I can bring them back in the next day or two."

"You're taking all of this well," Derek said suddenly, eyeing the sheriff suspiciously. "It's... odd."

"Yeah, if you wanna freak out, feel free," Stiles added encouragingly.

"Oh, I'm going to freak out at some point," the sheriff promised. "But right now, that's not going to help anything."

Stiles nodded, glancing down at Derek again. "Okay, so... what now?"

"Now..." Derek shrugged. "Now we just wait until the sheriff brings us the books. We don't have any other leads, on either Peter or this curse—which is suspicious on the Peter front."

Stiles sighed and stood up, careful not to drop Derek. "Well, in that case, I'm going to make some lunch. You're gonna need something to fuel that impending meltdown, Dad, and _someone_ called me home before I could finish my sandwich."

"Hey, what was I supposed to do?" the sheriff protested. "I walk into my son's room and there's a goddamned person the size of an action figure with ears and a tail on his pillow!" A thought struck him, and he narrowed his eyes at Derek. "Where have you been sleeping?"

Derek bared his teeth at the older human from his new perch on Stiles's shoulder. "In a drawer. There's a makeshift bed."

"Then why were you on _my son's_ bed if you have your own?"

Stiles shrugged. "We were talking pretty late last night, and fell asleep," he offered,  although that didn't really explain why Derek had stayed there after he left for school.

The sheriff just hummed thoughtfully; Derek didn't like the speculative look on his face.

***

The next day, Derek went to school with Stiles. It was weird, not having to sneak around the kitchen to avoid the sheriff. Although he had had some questions about why, exactly, Derek was going to school with Stiles. Derek had just rolled his eyes and said it was better than sitting around in Stiles's room—did he have any _idea_ what the room of a teenager boy smelled like to a werewolf? Not anything that Derek wanted to smell twenty-four hours a day. 

School itself was normal, and when the bell rang for lunch, the three of them—Stiles, Scott, and Derek—headed out to the lacrosse field to eat. It was a nice day, aside from Scott freaking out over the sheriff knowing that he was a werewolf now. Derek sat up straight, poking Stiles. "Allison's coming this way," he said, edging towards Stiles's bookbag.

Stiles sat up too, unzipping the bag and b positioning it so that Derek could climb in if he wanted to. "Heads up, Scotty," he said, a little unnecessarily considering there was no way Scott hadn't already noticed Allison's approach.

She reached them soon enough and came to a stop in front of Scott, but didn't sit down. Instead, she stood awkwardly with her arms folded across her body, shifting her weight from foot to foot as she let her gaze flicker to anything but the boys' eyes. "Can we talk?" she asked Scott, her voice quiet. "Alone?"

Scott exchanged a quick glance with Stiles before nodding. "Yeah, of course," he said, getting to his feet.

Derek watched through the slightly-open zipper as the two left; once he was sure he and Stiles were alone, he climbed back out. "Allison seemed odd," he commented.

Stiles shrugged. "Can you blame her?" he asked. "She just found out that the guy she's in love with is a werewolf and that her family wants to kill him."

"Fair point," Derek conceded, climbing up to sit on Stiles's knee—it was slightly more comfortable than the bench. He grabbed a piece of pineapple from Stiles's tray and started nibbling on it. "But I have to disagree on the whole 'in love' front. They're what, sixteen?"

"And what, you don't think sixteen year olds can fall in love?"

"Not really, no. They're _sixteen_ , for Christ's sake. What do they know of love?" Derek realized the tip of his tail was twitching, but he didn't try to stop it—he knew it would be a futile effort anyway. "Most sixteen-year-olds can barely manage to tie their shoes properly on the first try."

Stiles felt like that was a direct jibe at him, and he exhaled sharply, stung. "So how old do we have to be to know our own feelings?" he demanded. "Eighteen? Twenty? At what age does the switch suddenly flick, and we're old enough to be in love?"

"That's not what I'm saying," Derek protested. "I'm saying the average sixteen year old doesn't have a lot of experience, definitely not enough to be falling in love with someone and planning their lives around their significant other."

Stiles huffed. "But we have to experience it at some point, don't we?" he argued. "There's a first time for everything, and if you're mature enough or whatever, I don't see any reason why it couldn't happen at sixteen. Scott _definitely_ loves Allison, and you can't convince me otherwise."

"It's not Scott I'm doubting," Derek said, watching Allison and Scott intently.

Stiles grinned, triumphant. "Well Allison's _seventeen_ ," he announced smugly. "And I think she loves Scott, too."

"Like a year makes that much difference," Derek scoffed.

"According to you, it does," Stiles snapped. "We might be young, but we know how we feel, Derek."

"I thought I did," Derek murmured, just loud enough for Stiles to hear. 

Stiles sighed, deflating in an instant. "I know she screwed you over in the worst way imaginable, but that doesn't mean you didn't love her," he said softly.

"No, it just meant I was stupid enough to believe she loved me back," Derek muttered, getting up to wipe his hands on the corner of a napkin. "Just... Scott needs to be careful. He's got enough going on right now without throwing a girlfriend into the mix."

"I know," Stiles admitted, speaking about both Scott and Derek. "But love isn't about what's practical."

Derek snorted at that, but before he could reply, he noticed Scott and Allison walking back towards them. He dashed back into the bookbag, telling himself firmly that _no_ , he wasn't running away from the conversation. 

Even he could hear his heartbeat lie.

***

The sheriff managed to bring the books home the next day, although he expressed his discomfort with unofficially removing evidence from the archives multiple times, despite the fact that the case was several years old. Still, the volumes turned out to be genuine spellbooks as predicted, and Stiles surrounded himself with them at the kitchen table that night, immersed in spells and charms that he could only begin to understand. Derek and his father stayed with him for a while, but Stiles could tell that the former was bored and the latter was more than a little overwhelmed. He raised the pen he was using to make notes and gestured towards the door. "Why don't you two go hang out?" he suggested mildly. "This is gonna take forever."

Derek and the sheriff exchanged looks, but it was Derek who shrugged and jumped from the table to a chair and then the floor before heading to the living room. The sheriff looked at Stiles before following Derek. "I think there's a baseball game on," he offered awkwardly. 

"Sounds good," Derek said, kicking the remote towards the sheriff from his perch on the armrest of the couch.

The sheriff found the game pretty quickly, and after that they just sat together in awkward silence, both stubbornly staring at the TV screen even though neither were really watching it. After about twenty minutes, the sheriff broke, and glanced at Derek out of the corner of his eye. This was, he recognised, the first opportunity he'd gotten to quiz Derek without Stiles being present, and he wasn't going to let that pass. "So..." he began, as casually as he could. "Why does a grown man who also happens to be a werewolf want to hang around with a teenaged human kid?"

"Because he's trying to keep the teenaged werewolf kid from getting his fool ass shot full of wolfsbane," Derek answered without looking at the elder Stilinski. "They're a package deal, if you haven't noticed."

"I had noticed," the sheriff conceded. "But that doesn't explain why you're _here_ , instead of with Scott."

"Because Scott's got a lot on his plate," Derek shrugged. "And Stiles is also the research guy; more convenient if we find a cure for this." He gestured towards himself. "Plus Scott's not overly fond of me."

Stilinski raised an eyebrow. "And Stiles is?"

Derek huffed. "Not exactly. But he... I don't know, he's easier to understand? I don't feel like strangling him, at least."

The sheriff hummed, like he wasn't really satisfied with that answer, but he didn't say anything more on the subject for the rest of the evening.

It was a few hours later when Stiles finally wandered into the living room. The baseball game had finished a while ago and he just stood there for a moment, silently judging his father and friend for the cheesy sitcom they'd ended up watching. "Seriously?" he asked when Derek sensed his gaze and looked over. "This thing has a _laugh track_." He rolled his eyes. "Turn it off. I think I've found something."

Derek got up and walked over to Stiles while the Sheriff turned the television off. "What'd you find?" the werewolf asked, his ears perked.

Stiles bent down to pick Derek up. "It seems to be some kind of DIY thing," he said uncertainly. "According to like three of those books, you can make yourself big again if you want it enough."

Derek stared at Stiles for a moment. "You're kidding me," he said flatly, his ears and tail drooping slightly. "How much more do I have to want it than what I've been?"

Stiles sighed. "I don't know, bud," he admitted, frowning. "But at least it's a start. I'll keep looking."

"Yeah, okay," Derek sighed. He walked up Stiles's arm to perch on his shoulder, leaning against his neck. "Dammit, I don't want to be small anymore."

"I know," Stiles murmured soothingly. He looked to his dad. "I think we're gonna go to bed. Don't touch those books, okay? If you open it to the right page, one of them grows teeth."

The sheriff paled. "I'm not even going in the kitchen."

***

The sheriff went upstairs a little bit after his son and the—werewolf, Jesus. He knocked softly on Stiles's door. Derek was curled up on Stiles's pillow again, his eyes half-closed as he watched the teen peck away at the computer. "Son? Can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Yeah," Stiles said easily, looking up at his dad. There was a moment of awkward silence, and then it dawned on him. "You mean alone. Alone talking. Sure." He got up and followed the sheriff from the room, acutely aware that no matter where they went in the house, Derek would be able to hear them. "What's up?"

"Derek seems... " The sheriff struggled to find the right word. "Possessive of you." That wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind, but it was close enough.

Stiles flushed. "Does he?" he asked, deciding quickly to play dumb. This conversation wasn't just for his father's benefit. "I hadn't noticed."

The sheriff raised one disbelieving eyebrow. "He made you put yourself on equal footing with me earlier. And just now, he was being... very physical with you."

Stiles shrugged, hoping he looked casual. "It's not that big of a deal," he explained. "Derek's a werewolf. They're really tactile, and now that he's small, I guess he's also... feeling vulnerable?" God, he hoped Derek would forgive him for saying this. "So that's probably why he's more touchy-feely than normal." A _lot_ more touchy-feely than normal.

"Mhm." The sheriff studied his son carefully. "Just... Be careful. He's a werewolf, like you said. I don't want you accidentally pissing him off or something."

Stiles actually laughed at that. "Please," he snorted. "I'm pretty sure I piss him off every second of every day. Don't worry about me, okay? I'm safe with Derek." He didn't know where those last words had come from, but he knew instinctively that they were true.

The sheriff rolled his eyes. "Piss him off to the point where he injures you, then," he amended.

"I'm safe with Derek," Stiles repeated, irritated. "Trust me, Dad."

"All right," the elder Stilinski said after a moment. "I trust you. It's Derek I'm not quite so sure about."

Again, Stiles shrugged. "I get that," he conceded. "I'm gonna go to bed, okay?"

"All right. Good night, son." The sheriff clapped a hand over Stiles's shoulder, squeezing lightly before releasing it. 

Derek watched Stiles come back in. "He's suspicious of me," he stated simply.

"Can you blame him?" Stiles asked, sitting down on the bed. "You're a werewolf and you're a lot older than me and we're sharing a bed." Derek hadn't shown any indication that he planned on returning to his makeshift bed and not on Stiles' pillow, and although they had yet to actually acknowledge it, Stiles felt safe enough to mention it now. "He's bound to have some questions."

Derek snorted. "He interrogated me earlier," he confessed. "When you were absorbed in the books."

"Really? What did he say?"

Derek shrugged one shoulder, scooting a little closer to Stiles. "Asked why I was hanging around with you; when I told him it was because I'd been trying to keep Scott from getting his ass shot by a hunter, he asked why I was _here_ instead of with Scott."

Stiles laughed. "Bet he was impressed when you told him Scott refused to take you."

Derek felt the tips of his ears redden. "I didn't tell him that," he muttered. "I told him it was because you were easier for me to get along with. I don't feel like strangling you anywhere near as often as I do Scott."

Stiles' eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Oh. Umm. Okay then. Why did you say that?"

"Because you're not as stupid as Scott. You've actually got a bit of common sense."

"Gee, thanks." Stiles got up to kick off his jeans and swap his t-shirt for an older, softer one that he could sleep in, and then climbed into bed, careful not to dislodge Derek. He settled down, watching Derek closely; the furrow in his brow was even deeper than usual, and Stiles knew what he was thinking. "Don't worry too much about what I found out tonight, okay?" he murmured. "I know it doesn't make any sense, but it's something we can build on."

Derek sighed. "Yeah, I just wish magic wasn't so fucking cryptic." He waited until Stiles was settled before moving in so he was tucked under Stiles's chin. It made him feel safe, and unless Stiles moved him, he wasn't moving.

Derek may have been sharing a pillow with Stiles recently, but this was new, and Stiles felt his heart beat stutter in surprise. Still, he wasn't complaining; it felt nice to be this close, and he raised a finger to stroke Derek's tail. "We'll work it out," he promised, voice barely more than a whisper. "It'll be okay."

Derek's tail twitched when Stiles first touched it, but he relaxed into the contact easily enough. "I hope so," he murmured.

*** 

Surprisingly enough, the sheriff actually adjusted fairly well to having a miniature werewolf running around his house, and Derek was enjoying the new freedom (and opportunities to scare the shit out of Stiles by popping out of unexpected places) immensely. 

Unfortunately, he wasn't enjoying himself very much at the moment; Stiles had gotten a detention from his math teacher for "mouthing off." Granted, he'd been echoing some of Derek's complaints (which were valid, thank you very much) on the homework the night before, and the teacher hadn't appreciated the remarks. So now both Stiles and Derek were stuck in her classroom for the next hour. 

Derek was currently perched on a binder in Stiles's bookbag, surveying the room. A slow grin spread over his face as he eyed the miniature whiteboards and markers. "Hey, Stiles," he whispered, keeping one eye on the teacher, who currently had her back catty-corner to them, grading papers and typing the grades in on the computer. "I'm gonna mess with her."

Part of Stiles felt like he should protest, but the majority of him was pissed off that his teacher had held him back for no good reason, so he just smirked and made a gesture that encompassed the entire room. "Be my guest."

Derek's grin grew, and he spent the next few moments carefully mapping out the room, taking note of places to hide in case the teacher looked in his direction. Then, he slowly crept out of Stiles's bookbag and started making his way across the room, careful to avoid running into any desk legs or anything like that. Once he reached the cabinet that held the markers and whiteboards, Derek grabbed one of the slimmer markers and quickly uncapped it, edging out onto the pen holder of the actual whiteboard hanging on the wall. He quickly wrote out one of the equations from the homework the night before, and then gestured from Stiles to the board, indicating he should ask about the equation before Derek quickly ducked back behind the cabinet.

Stiles made sure that Derek was out of sight before attracting the teacher's attention. "Umm, Miss? Can you go over this equation again? I still don't get it."

The teacher turned around with one raised eyebrow. "Which equation, Mr. Stilinski? I can't help you with a problem only you know about."

Stiles glared at her. "The one you went over in class," he said, with mock patience. "The second problem on the homework you gave us."

The teacher rolled her eyes before getting to her feet. "Of course, _that_ one. Well, the problem was—" She paused, eyeing the whiteboard warily. It had one thing written on it: the equation in question. That shouldn't have been there; she'd completely wiped the board down after the last class. And what was more, that was most definitely not _her_ handwriting. Yet she hadn't heard Stiles move, either. After a moment, the teacher dismissed it, grabbing a marker and starting to walk through the problem. She'd barely started when she heard Stiles start coughing. 

"Do you need a drink of water, Mr. Stilinski?" she snapped, turning to glare at the teenager.

"Umm, no," Stiles answered innocently. "I'm fine, thank you."

The teacher side-eyed Stiles for a moment before returning to the board and continuing with her explanation. Not ten seconds after she resumed, she heard coughing. "Stilinski!" she snapped, turning to glare at Stiles again. "Are you sure you do not need that drink?"

Stiles just blinked at her, his face carefully blank. "I'm positive. I'm perfectly hydrated, thank you."

The teacher snorted. "Don't cough again," she said warningly before resuming her explanation. This time when she was interrupted, it was by the sound of _someone_ knocking on a desk. "Stilinski, do you want my help with this problem or not?"

" _Yes_ ," Stiles said slowly, letting himself look a little annoyed. "That's why I'm sitting here attentively while you impart your wisdom. Although you might wanna check your method, Teach."

"'Check my method'?" she echoed, looking at Stiles disbelievingly. Was the kid _asking_ for more detentions? Still, if he thought he had a better way... The teacher looked back over the problem, considering. "There is no other—Oh. Well, I suppose we could use the trapezoid rule, rather than a riemann sum." And really, how had she missed that?

Once she finished that problem, she turned back to Stiles before she erased the board. "Any other questions?"

"No," Stiles answered sweetly. "I understand now. Thank you for your help."

***

Derek waited until the teacher was sitting back at her desk, whiteboard freshly erased, before running to it and quickly scribbling out how he would have done the problem—in about half as many steps, and still achieving the same answer. He wrote it so that it wouldn't be seen (hopefully) until after he and Stiles had left. Then he carefully made his way back to Stiles's bookbag, snickering quietly to himself. 

After the teacher dismissed them, Derek and Stiles headed out for the Jeep. Derek sighed when he saw all the crap strewn over the passenger seat. "Guess I'm sitting in the cupholder," he muttered.

Stiles smiled unapologetically and reached into his bag to pull out the shirt that probably smelled more like Derek than him these days. He still felt uneasy about such a tiny person sitting on the passenger seat. "You'll be comfy," he promised, tucking the shirt into the cupholder. "And _safe_. Hop on in there and tell me it's not the best thing ever, I dare you."

Derek rolled his eyes but jumped in anyway, shifting around until he was comfortable. "It's not bad," he conceded.

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles snorted, putting the jeep into gear and backing out of his spot. "You might be the one with freaky superhearing, but I still know you're lying. That's the comfiest you've ever been in this car."

Derek grumbled and flicked a crumb from a sandwich Stiles had had the other day at Stiles's ear. "Yeah, but you don't have to call me on it," he complained as Stiles pulled onto the actual road.

Stiles cackled. "What are friends for?"

***

Turns out friends were also for safety, as Derek discovered that night. He'd gone out on the porch roof once again that same evening after dinner; it had become a regular routine for him. As such, Derek had felt comfortable letting his guard down just the slightest bit to doze intermittently. It was sunset when he first went out onto the porch roof, and it was full night when something woke him up. 

Derek strained all of his senses, but could not catch a hint of what woke him up—no hint besides his instincts, at any rate. There were clouds covering the moon, and the light from Stiles's room didn't allow Derek to see much farther than a few feet out. The shrunken werewolf got carefully to his feet, ears twitching and tail bushed out.

He didn't know he was under attack until he felt claws pass through the fur on his tail. Derek was not afraid to admit that the sound he emitted was not manly in the least—it was, pure and simple, a _shriek_. He didn't even think about it, just turned tail and bolted back through the window, straight for Stiles.

Stiles was already on his feet, his admittedly mediocre senses on high alert. "What? What?" he demanded as Derek raced back into the room and across the floor towards him. "What happened?"

Derek didn't answer, simply using his claws to scramble up Stiles's pants legs and under his shirt, shaking with adrenaline and still wolfed-out.

"Okay, okay," Stiles soothed, cupping a hand over the shivering lump in the front of his shirt. He winced when sharp claws dug into his skin, but he didn't complain; Derek was clearly terrified. "You're okay. Just breathe."

Stiles's scent, warmth, and voice helped ground Derek—helped, helped _anchor_ him. The shock of that realization more than anything else snapped him out of his terror, but he didn't leave the safety of Stiles's shirt just yet. Still, he didn't speak for several moments. "Thanks," he murmured, just loud enough to be heard through the fabric.

"Anytime," Stiles said fondly, a soft smile quirking his lips as he gently stroked over what he assumed was Derek's back. "You wanna tell me what got you so freaked?"

Derek shrugged, settling closer to Stiles's heartbeat—it was incredibly soothing. "Not sure," he admitted. "Some sort of bird; couldn't hear or see it."

Stiles stroked over Derek's small form again and focused on keeping his heart beating steadily, something he'd started practicing after he realised certain werewolf friends of his could use it to figure out when he was lying. "Probably an owl," he mused. "Next time you wanna take a nap, how about you do it inside, huh?"

"Definitely," Derek agreed. He became aware that his claws were drawing blood, and he winced guiltily. "You wanna sit down so I quit poking holes in you?"

Stiles could definitely get on board with this plan. He took a few steps back and sat down on his bed, slowly lifting the hand he'd cupped around Derek to allow him to move.

Derek gently removed his claws, frowning to himself when he saw the amount of blood. It wasn't a _lot_ of blood, but Derek still felt guilty about it. He was also willing to bet that Stiles's chest now stung like hell; he laid on hand on Stiles's chest, and concentrated on draining the pain.

Stiles gasped, his heart rate spiking, and looked down at the Derek-shape in his shirt. "What are you doing?"

"Draining the pain," Derek said simply. "Werewolf claws hurt, shrunken or not."

"I had no idea you could do that," Stiles said quietly, feeling oddly touched. "You should probably tell Scott you can do that."

"Only some wolves can do it; it's mostly instinct," Derek answered, finishing.

Stiles didn't quite know what to make of the fact that it was apparently _instinct_ for Derek to ease his pain, so he didn't let himself think about it. "Thank you," he murmured. "More than makes up for the holes in my chest."

"You're welcome," Derek replied, curling up a little more comfortably. "Do you mind—"

"Not at all," Stiles said softly, reclining back against his pillows. "You're okay."

"Thanks," Derek murmured, already drifting off to sleep.

***

Things continued on as normal, or as normal as they could possibly be with a tiny werewolf companion, for about a week. During that time, they didn't get any further with working out how to get Derek back to his normal size. Stiles could tell that he was getting frustrated; he wasn't stubbornly trying to do things by himself anymore—he'd learned that lesson the hard way—but he was starting to snap at Stiles whenever he had to ask for help. It wasn't like Stiles didn't understand. They were still under threat, although Peter had been surprisingly quiet recently, and Scott was no closer to getting enough of a grip on himself that he could take the Alpha down alone. In fact, Scott seemed to be going backwards. Without Allison to keep him anchored, his wolf was closer to the surface these days than ever before.

Which was why Stiles had dragged the both of them to the old Hale house. Scott was feeling dangerously out of control, and Derek was feeling useless—so why not kill two birds with one stone? "All right," Stiles said when they'd gotten out of the jeep. Derek was perched on his shoulder, and both he and Scott were fixing Stiles with expressions of equal confusion and irritation. "I know I did a pretty awesome job of helping Scott get his shit together back when he was first bitten, but we all know it isn't enough. He needs help from someone who actually knows what they're doing. So we're gonna give that a shot, okay? Group effort and all. You can can instruct, Derek—and Scott, we're gonna do what he says."

"'We'?" Scott echoed, confused. Derek, on the other hand, was nodding slowly. 

"Makes sense. Stiles is basically your pack," he explained. "You work with him, it'll help soldify that bond, and the better pack bonds you have, the more settled your wolf will be."

Stiles grinned, pleased that Derek agreed with him. "Awesome," he said, clapping his hands together. "So, where do we start?"

Derek considered for a moment. "Put me on the porch, and for right now I just want to see what Scott's got instinctively, see what I've got to work with."

Stiles did as Derek asked and then stepped back, looking nervously at Scott. "What, you want me to throw stuff at him again?"

Derek grinned. "Basically, yeah. You're annoying, but you're valuable, so I can't make you fight him. And I can't fight him, for obvious reasons."

Stiles puffed out a sharp little breath through his nose, surprised but oddly warmed by the notion that he was somehow 'valuable' to Derek. "Well, okay then," he sighed, smirking at Scott as he bent to pick up a handful of sticks and pebbles from the forest floor. "Think fast!"

Scott yelped as Stiles nailed him in the ear with a pebble, and Derek snickered. "You're supposed to dodge," he pointed out helpfully. 

"Fuck o— _ow_! Dammit, Stiles!"

"Come on!" Stiles laughed, positively gleeful, as he threw a stick that whacked Scott in the throat. "You were better at this when we were on the lacrosse field!" He turned to give Derek a shrug. "I guess my aim has improved."

"I can't judge on that; I didn't see the first time," Derek replied, grinning. "Scott, _focus_. I don't want anything fancy, but I need to see how much work we have to do."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm— _dammit_ , that _hurt_ , you fucker! I'm trying, Jesus!" Derek could see Scott's control starting to slip, and he moved forward to the front edge of the porch. 

"Scott, I need you to focus. Stiles is trying to help you; he's not an enemy. This is just training." Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea...

"Trying," Scott gritted out, one hand slashing the stick Stiles had just thrown.

Stiles thought that maybe they should take a break, but he only had one pebble left in his hand, so he figured he might as well throw that first. Unfortunately, his aim had improved quite a bit since the last time they'd tried this: it hit Scott square in the forehead and for the split second before it healed, Stiles saw a trickle of blood begin to run from the gash it had caused. His eyes widened as Scott's yellowed. "Oh shi—"

Scott roared, and Derek was helpless to do anything but watch as the younger Beta charged Stiles. " _Scott!_ "

All of a sudden Stiles was flat on his back, with a pissed off werewolf right in his face, and oh dear God, the _teeth_. But Derek's yell seemed to have reached Scott, because he wasn't trying to maul Stiles. Instead, he was digging his claws into the earth on either side of Stiles' head, and he was breathing harsh and fast through his nose, his eyes clenched tight shut. Still, it was touch-and-go for a few seconds, Stiles' pounding heart in his mouth while he waited to see if he would become his best friend's next meal, before Scott pulled himself together and leapt away from him. Stiles just stayed where he was, staring up at the cloudy sky, and silently congratulated himself on not peeing in his pants.

Scott paced, muttering under his breath, as Derek rushed over to Stiles. "You okay?" he demanded. "No injuries?"

Stiles blinked at Derek, who was standing on his chest. The sound of his heartbeat, still rapid with fear and adrenaline, must be deafening for him. "Yeah, I'm fine," he answered, somewhat belatedly, and hoped that Derek would forgive the slight tremor in his voice. He blew out a breath and tried to smile. "Wow, that was fun, huh? Let's not do that again."

"Agreed." Derek turned to frown at Scott. "What the hell was that?"

"He kept throwing shit at me!" Scott protested. 

Derek really wanted to be big again—or maybe have Scott as small as he currently was—so he could strangle the teenager. "No, really? That was the _point_ , dumbass!" Scott had the grace to look sheepish. 

"I know, I'm sorry. I just—I tried, you know, to anchor myself, but I—I couldn't."

Derek sighed. "All right. You need to find a new anchor, though, or eventually something will happen, and either you'll get hurt or you'll hurt someone else."

"Okay," Stiles groaned, curling a hand around Derek so that he wouldn't fall while he got to his feet. Once he was upright again, he let Derek resume his position on his shoulder. "Why don't we try something simpler? Like, I don't know, meditating."

Scott pulled a face. "Meditating?"

Derek made a thoughtful noise. "That might be more helpful for you," he said. "I can't exactly spar with you right now."

"And _I_ definitely can't," Stiles huffed. Derek wobbled a little when he sat back down, his legs crossed, but didn't fall. Stiles got himself comfortable and looked expectantly up at Scott. "Come on. Let's find inner peace or enlightenment or whatever." It took both Stiles and Derek a good few minutes more to cajole Scott into agreeing, and then Stiles showed them how to relax and control their breathing. Meditation was something he'd tried back when his panic attacks were really bad.

Scott actually picked it up fairly quickly, and as they sat together on the ground, breathing deep and even, their eyes closed, none of them noticed that they were being watched.

***

The meditation seemed to help Scott's control immensely, something for which Derek was extremely grateful. The last thing they needed was even more trouble from hunters. 

Derek was quiet for the rest of the day, a bit pensive. If he'd been big, he could have stopped Scott from attacking Stiles—Stiles wouldn't have been an option in Scott's mind at all. _Derek_ would have been the one throwing things at Scott, pushing his control to its breaking point. 

Derek was also more than a bit perplexed that he was this concerned about _Stiles_. Yeah, the teenager had become Derek's friend, but that didn't exactly rate this level of concern. But Derek also couldn't have _feelings_ for Stiles, because the kid was underage by a couple of years, for Christ's sake. He was only a sophomore, and Derek was in his twenties. There was no way Derek could be falling for Stiles. 

Derek's thoughts chased themselves in circles as Derek idly pushed a pea around the bottle cap that served as his plate that night at dinner. "Think the meditation's gonna help?" he asked Stiles. It was just the two of them; the sheriff was working a late shift.

Stiles sighed. "I hope so," he answered. "He's been kind of a loose cannon since Allison found out. But you never know with Scott." He glanced at Derek, and nudged him with the knuckle of his ring finger. "Hey, are you okay? You've been quiet all night."

"What? Yeah, I'm fine," Derek said evasively, shying away from Stiles's touch.

Stiles blinked, perplexed, but backed off, returning his attention to his plate. "Okay. If you say so."

Derek resisted the urge to say something snarky, instead focusing on finishing his food. "I'm gonna head on up," he said when he was done. "Going to get an early night." Without saying anything else, Derek leaped from the table, landing and rolling, before heading upstairs. When he got upstairs, he went to the bedside drawer that still contained the makeshift bed, even though Derek hadn't used it in weeks. He would use it tonight, but he had the feeling that he wouldn't be sleeping well.

Stiles didn't sleep well, either. Without the knowledge that Derek was curled up on the pillow beside him, and the feel of his soft, even breaths against his face, Stiles felt bereft. He didn't know what he'd done wrong to make Derek abandon him like this, but when he called out to him after tossing and turning for two hours, soft and tentative, Derek ignored him. He wasn't asleep, though; the occasional rattle of the drawer told Stiles that he wasn't the only one feeling restless. Frustrated and upset, Stiles flopped onto his back to stare blindly up at the ceiling, and focused his attention on keeping every part of his body perfectly still. At some point, endless hours later, he blinked—and it was morning. He didn't feel like he'd slept at all.

***

The sheriff accosted them at the breakfast table the next morning. "I think we've got a hit on your missing rogue—"

"Alpha," Derek supplied, looking up from his cereal. "What've you got?"

"The local fire inspector reported some strange things going on at his place for the past few nights; strange sounds, and what he swears is a pair of eyes."

"Red eyes?" Stiles asked interestedly.

"Yep. Swears up and down those eyes don't blink; they just watch him." The sheriff took a sip of his coffee. "Derek?"

"Could be Peter," Derek said thoughtfully. "But why the fire inspector? Why target him?"

"Was he involved with the fire at Derek's house?" Stiles wanted to know.

"He was the one who ruled it accidental."

Derek nodded. "That'd do it. Doesn't matter if he was paid off by Kate, or if he genuinely thought it was accidental, Peter's gonna think he was part of the plot."

Stiles nodded, sending Derek a sympathetic look. "Then he's in danger. What do we do?"

Derek considered that for several moments. "Replace your bullets with wolfsbane bullets—I can show you how. Keep watch on the inspector; if Peter's decided he's worth killing, then he's going to be committed."

Stiles grimaced. "Or we could, y'know, _not_ put my father and his deputies between a crazy Alpha werewolf and his next kill," he suggested. "There has to be another way."

"If we had a pack, or if I was big and Scott was more in control, maybe," Derek said. He didn't like this solution anymore than Stiles did. "As it is, if they've got wolfsbane bullets, and they're ordered to shoot on sight, they don't need to make a kill shot to drive Peter off. A couple of wolfsbane bullets will be enough to start weakening him immediately, since he doesn't have a pack."

Stiles sighed, and dropped his head into his hands. "I hate this," he whined. "I can't believe this is my life!"

The room fell quiet as Derek just stared at Stiles, stunned and more than a little upset. "Really," he said flatly. "You hate helping us get rid of a monster who needs to be put down? You can't believe that because _you_ dragged Scott out into the woods that night, you're now stuck helping to clean up a mess that _you_ dragged you and him into?" Derek pushed himself to his feet, his eyes flashing blue. "Boo fucking hoo, Stilinski. This isn't a fairy tale, there's no fairy godmother to clean up the mess for you. Welcome to the _real_ world."

Stiles gaped at Derek. He didn't think he'd ever heard that much come out of the werewolf's mouth all at once before—and of course the only time Derek could bring himself to be so eloquent was when he wanted to hurt Stiles. "No," Stiles said quietly, a stubborn set to his jaw. "I can't believe that a year ago I was a normal kid with a normal best friend and absolutely no idea that werewolves even existed, but now one is sharing my bed, _when it suits him_ , and is sitting in my kitchen talking to my father about wolfsbane bullets. I hate that everyone I care about is in danger, and that I'm helpless to do a thing about it. But yeah, you're right, this is the real world, where I fuck everything up for my dad and my friends just by existing. I already know that."

Derek clenched his jaw, but he didn't say anything. After a few tense moments, it was the sheriff who spoke. "Stiles, you're not screwing everything up by existing," the elder Stilinski said quietly. "You're actually helping; I never would have known what was really going on if you and Scott hadn't gone looking for Laura's body. And Scott may be a werewolf, but I've never seen him look better, not even when his father was around and pretending to give a shit about him and Melissa. Yes, there's more danger in our lives now, but we know what we're up against. We wouldn't if it weren't for you."

Stiles bit his lip and side-eyed the sheriff. He couldn't believe he'd just gone off like that in front of his dad, but he had to admit that those words were good to hear. "I guess," he allowed, embarrassed and still upset. "I think I'm gonna go for a walk, okay?"

The sheriff nodded. "Okay. Keep your phone on you, all right? Call if there's any trouble, and keep it on so the GPS works."

"Sure." Stubbornly refusing to look back at Derek, Stiles stood up and left the room.

The sheriff watched Stiles go; once the teen was out of the house, the older man turned to Derek with a raised eyebrow. "Mind explaining what that was about?"

Derek sighed. "I'm just frustrated; I shouldn't have taken it out on him, though," he muttered, sitting back down.

"No, you shouldn't have," the sheriff agreed. "You going to apologize?"

It was on the tip of Derek's tongue to say no, but he changed his mind at the last second. What he'd said _had_ been really insensitive. "Yeah, I'll apologize whenever he gets back in."

The sheriff nodded. "Good man."

***

Stiles wandered around town for a lot longer than he'd intended, instinctively texting his dad every hour or so to let him know that he was okay. At one point he found himself meandering towards the veterinary practice, and considered going in to speak to Scott, but he hurried away when Deaton saw him through the window. In the end he visited his mom and talked to her for a little bit, and even though he received absolutely no response from her, just like always, he felt more centred afterwards, like he could face going home. On the walk back, a car droveb by with the windows rolled down and the stereo blasting his mom's favourite song, and Stiles smiled to himself. Maybe his mom wasn't so silent after all.

When he got home, the house was quiet, but that was to be expected. The sheriff had messaged him back the last time he'd checked in to say that he had to go into work. Sighing to himself, Stiles hung up his jacket and climbed the stairs, towards his room and Derek. Time to face the music.

Derek had heard Stiles enter the house; Derek himself was in Stiles's room, sitting on the edge of his drawer. He had slept there last night, but it hadn't been anywhere near as restful as the nights Derek had spent curled up on Stiles's pillow, the teenager's hand resting against his back. No, Derek was not going to analyze that. He liked his state of denial just fine. He may be spending tonight in that drawer again, though, depending on how this conversation went. When Stiles entered his room, Derek cleared his throat. "Hey," he said, semi-awkwardly.

"Hey," Stiles returned, dropping into his desk chair and tipping it back until it was balancing on three of its five legs and he had a great view of the ceiling. The shadow from his lamp and a strategically-placed cobweb kind of looked like a smiley face. _Huh_.

The silence, already tense to begin with, stretched on until it became awkward. Finally, Derek sighed. "I'm sorry," he said, only just loud enough for Stiles to hear. "I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."

"Yeah, okay," Stiles sighed listlessly, and began to use his chair as a rocking chair. It creaked ominously but he didn't stop. "Let's just forget about it."

Derek opened his mouth and then closed it again, frowning. "If you want," he finally settled on saying. "But seriously, don't crack your head open with that chair, okay? Gonna put me off apologizing forever." It was a weak joke, they both knew it, but Derek didn't like the way Stiles smelled.

Stiles rocked the chair back onto all of its legs with a _thunk_. "Are you really sorry?" he demanded. "Or are you just saying that because your tiny, furry butt is screwed without me?"

"I'm really sorry," Derek said, taken aback slightly by Stiles's vehemence. "I was out of line."

Stiles sighed and looked away. "Were you? Or were you just saying what you really think?"

Derek shook his head emphatically. "I was out of line," he repeated firmly. "I don't blame you for what's happened, Stiles, and you shouldn't blame yourself."

"That's bullshit," Stiles snorted. "Because you were right. Scott wouldn't be a werewolf if it wasn't for me. Allison wouldn't hate him. My dad wouldn't be in danger. You wouldn't be so distracted by our screw ups that you touched an obviously-cursed pot and got yourself shrunk."

"How many times do I have to tell you it looked like an ordinary pot?" Derek asked, exasperated. He took a deep breath; getting frustrated wouldn't help anything. "And okay, so you dragged Scott into the woods—but Peter's the one who bit him."

"And, as you so eloquently pointed out earlier, he wouldn't have been there to be bitten if I hadn't made him come out for a moonlit stroll."

"You really want to play the blame game, then we could blame me for letting Kate Argent close enough to trap Peter in the house and nearly kill him," Derek snapped, glaring at Stiles. "It's shitty, but shit happens."

Stiles' head whipped around and he stared at Derek, shocked. He kind of wanted to point out that it was Derek who instigated the blame game, both times, but something told him that wouldn't be very smart. "You're right," he said instead. "Shit does happen. Like yesterday."

Derek swallowed. "Like yesterday," he agreed. "I really shouldn't have had you throwing things at Scott, not without some sort of protection."

"Now who's playing the blame game?" Stiles asked archly. "None of us knew that Scott would freak out—not even Scott. His control hasn't been that bad since right after he was turned; we had no way of knowing. Yesterday was not your fault." He hesitated, and then corrected himself. "Well, the epically awkward and sleepless night might've been."

Derek huffed, but it was more amused than annoyed. "All right. And I'm also sorry about that."

"Are you coming back tonight?" Stiles pressed, his gaze pointedly dropping to the drawer that Derek was still perched on.

Derek worried his lower lip. "Do you want me to?" he asked after a moment.

"It's your decision," Stiles answered promptly, "but I really didn't get any sleep last night."

"I didn't either," Derek admitted. "So, yeah. I'd like that."

Stiles beamed. "Then you're forgiven!"

Derek smiled, relieved. "It's still a bit early for bed, but we could watch some movies?" he suggested.

"I think I could be persuaded," Stiles teased, already reaching for his laptop.

Derek smiled, climbing up onto Stiles's bed. "Any suggestions? No Batman."

"Spiderman?" Stiles asked hopefully. "Ooh, or Wolverine. We should totally watch Wolverine."

Derek shot Stiles an unimpressed look. "You just want to compare him to werewolves, don't you?"

"No!" Stiles insisted, and he wasn't even lying. "Not _all_ werewolves. Just you."

"Oh, just me? Well that's all right then," Derek said dryly, rolling his eyes. "Fine, we can watch X-Men."

Stiles crowed his victory and settled himself on the bed, being careful not to squish Derek. "I swear to God, you won't regret this."

Derek just shook his head and climbed up onto Stiles's shoulder to get a better view. "Somehow I doubt that."

By the end of the movie, it was clear that Derek was right not to trust him.

***

Peter watched the young boy—Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski—walk out to his mailbox. _Really,_ Peter mused, walking down the sidewalk towards the boy, _you would think my nephew would have warned him about going off alone._ Peter had debated taking Stiles the day before, when the teenager had been so distracted by whatever had made his scent go sour with upset. But then he had seen Stiles with his phone, and decided against it. He wanted his nephew to have to _work_ to find his precious human. 

"Well," Peter purred, stopping a few feet away from Stiles. "Look at you, out on your own. Didn't Derek or your father warn you against that?"

Everything in Stiles was telling him to run, but he wasn't stupid enough to think that Peter wouldn't be able to catch him. Instead, he looked up, meeting the alpha's gaze head on. "I'll—I'll scream," he choked out. "If you come any closer, I'll scream. And you shouldn't underestimate my father's reaction time."

Peter smirked. "I'm an Alpha, and your father is just a human with a gun. Does he even have wolfsbane bullets?"

"Do you really want to stick around to find out?" Stiles challenged, choosing his words carefully. He didn't know what Derek and his dad had got up to while he'd been on his walk yesterday, but he doubted they'd had time to make a substantial amount of bullets—if they'd made any.

Peter grinned and stepped right up into Stiles's space. "They're both sleeping," he murmured, bringing one hand up to take the mail from Stiles and drop it to the ground. "Their heartbeats are so slow, steady—Derek might wake up if you scream. But what use is a werewolf the size of a chipmunk?"

Stiles sucked in a sharp breath. "You've been watching us?" he demanded.

Peter's grin was more a baring of teeth. "I saw your little... _training session_ out at my old house. Scott isn't doing very well without that pretty little huntress girlfriend of his, is he?"

"Leave Scott alone," Stiles snapped. "Leave us _all_ alone!"

"Oh, now see, I can't do that," Peter said in a low voice, stepping even closer to Stiles and forcing the teenager to back up. "Derek let Kate Argent in—gave her everything she needed to manipulate my family into going willingly to their deaths. He needs to pay—He needs to feel my pain. What better way than to take you?"

Stiles frowned, and swallowed hard. "Me?" he asked. "He's not going to 'feel your pain' if you kill me; he won't even care. And what happened was not his fault. He didn't know what Kate was like."

Peter smirked. "He cares," he said, and then knocked Stiles out. 

***

When Derek woke up, Stiles's side of the pillow was cold, as if the teenager hadn't been there for a while. Glancing at the alarm clock, he saw that it wasn't unreasonable for Stiles to be out of bed at this time on a Saturday morning; only, if he was up, he would have been cooking breakfast. Derek couldn't smell anything cooking. Frowning, Derek pushed himself to his feet and carefully got off of the bed, heading toward the steps. He still couldn't hear anything, and an investigation of the ground floor revealed that Stiles's scent was freshest heading towards the front door. Climbing up onto the table under the living room window took only a moment, but it took significantly less time than that for Derek to realize that Stiles wasn't outside, and his Jeep was still in the driveway.

Derek ran for the sheriff's bedroom, his heart pounding.

The sheriff was already awake but not quite ready to get up, blissfully unaware that something was wrong—at least, until a tiny person came barrelling into his bedroom uninvited. "Derek?" he mumbled, sitting up. "What is it?"

"Stiles is missing," Derek burst out. "His scent leads outside, but he's not there—I can't get the door open myself so I don't know if Peter got him." Derek felt like he was about to burst out of his skin; if Stiles was gone, if he was _hurt_ —

"Okay, okay." The sheriff was already out of bed, and he crossed to his dresser to take out his gun. "We'll find him. I just have to—I—" He turned to look at Derek, his face ashen. "I have no idea what to do."

"Help me out," Derek said, battling past his own panic. "Let me get out; I can tell you if Peter's been here. Then we can figure out what else to do."

The sheriff hesitated for a split second before nodding and stooping to pick Derek up. They went downstairs and outside, and Stilinski broke into a run when he saw the mail strewn over the lawn. "Derek, what can you smell?" he demanded, his heart pounding. "Who took him? _Who the hell took my son_?"

All Derek could manage was a snarl. He was seeing red, and all he smelled was Stiles, fear, and _Peter._ Abruptly, Derek wanted to be big if for no other reason than to tear the other werewolf limb from limb. 

When Stilinski bent down to see if he could find any evidence, Derek jumped off of his hand, growling. "Peter," he hissed, his skin itching—

And then his body felt like it was on fire, every bone and muscle stretching way beyond its limit. When the pain finally receded, the first thing Derek noticed was that there was no extra weight on his head or hanging off of his ass. The second was that he was completely buck-ass naked. When he opened his eyes, Derek was disoriented by the new perspective; it took him an embarrassingly long time to realize his perspective was skewed because he was back to his original size. 

He growled under his breath, and then looked up at Stilinski. "I need pants. And then I'm tracking down Peter."

Had the situation been any different, the sheriff would have laughed his ass off. As it was, he just scrambled to do what Derek asked.

*** 

Once Derek had a pair of the sheriff's old jeans on, he headed back out to the front yard. He cracked his neck and shifted slightly—just enough to help further enhance his senses. "He took Stiles across the road—no car." Derek followed the trail, the sheriff on his heels. "When we catch up to them, if you get an opportunity, shoot him between the eyes. You don't have any wolfsbane bullets, but if you shoot him between the eyes, he may not manage to heal from that."

"You mean you don't _know_?" the sheriff hissed, appalled. "I'm only going to get one shot at this, and you don't even know if it'll work?"

Derek bared his teeth at the older man. "If it doesn't, I'll take him down myself," Derek promised in a snarl. "But my main concern is Stiles."

The sheriff really couldn't argue with that. He kept his mouth shut, and prayed that they wouldn't be too late.

Peter's trail led to the old Hale house; Derek was impressed with how the sheriff had managed to keep up with him. As they approached, Derek slowed. "Be ready," he murmured to the sheriff. 

Peter was waiting for them on the front porch; Derek couldn't see Stiles, but he could hear the teenager's sluggish heartbeat muffled by walls. "Nephew," Peter greeted, teeth bared in a cruel imitation of a smile. "How kind of you to bring the sheriff along."

"Where's my son, you sick son of a bitch?" the sheriff snarled, pointing his gun directly at Peter's face.

Peter raised one eyebrow. "Inside. I needed him to draw Derek here."

"Why Stiles?" Derek growled, letting himself shift fully into his beta form. 

Peter smirked at Derek. "Because you _care_ about the boy, Derek. Turnabout's fair and all that good stuff."

Derek's stomach dropped. "You hurt him and I'll kill you!"

Peter shrugged. "Hurting him will hurt you, and that's my only goal here."

"Why?" the sheriff asked, desperate. "Why can't you just leave us all alone? Stiles hasn't done anything wrong; he doesn't have anything to do with whatever this is."

Peter snarled, his eyes flashing as he jumped down from the porch, advancing on Derek and the sheriff. "Why can I leave you alone?" he hissed. "Because you're _involved_ , now, since you harbored this _traitor_." He spat the last word with a glare at Derek, his eyes wild. 

"I'm no traitor," Derek growled. "You're the one who's been running around killing and biting people."

Peter came a few steps closer, and Derek hoped the sheriff would take the shot soon. "You're the one who let that _hunter_ into our home," he growled.

The sheriff adjusted his stance, and tightened his grip on the gun. "Okay," he said slowly. "I don't know the full details here, and I don't want to. Just let my son go, and you two can fight it out amongst yourselves."

Peter bared his teeth, switching his gaze back to the sheriff. "That's not the point," he snarled. "The point is to make Derek suffer as I've suffered—To take away the person he loves the most."

"Then I don't have a choice," the sheriff said, and shot Peter between the eyes.

Peter's head snapped back and he fell backwards; Derek leaped over the body to get to the house. "If he moves, shoot him again!" Derek called over his shoulder. He didn't wait for confirmation, instead bursting into the house, not caring about the now-broken door. "Stiles?" he called, following the teenager's heartbeat into what used to be the living room. "Stiles, wake up!"

Stiles groaned and screwed his eyes tight shut, before blinking them open when Derek said his name again. "Peter..." he slurred, pushing himself into a sitting position. He was kind of dizzy and his head was throbbing, but he didn't think the damage was too bad.

"Hey, easy. Peter's outside." Derek let his hands skim over Stiles's arms, draining some of the pain. "Did he hurt you before he knocked you out?"

Stiles thought about it, trying to remember exactly what had happened. "No," he answered after a beat, and his eyes widened as he finally registered what he was seeing. "Hey. You're big again!"

Derek chuckled dryly. "Yeah, guess I wanted it badly enough." He was going to say something else, but it was cut off by the crack of a gunshot. "Fuck. Stiles, come on—Peter's awake again."

"What? Was—was that my _dad_?" Stiles let Derek pull him to his feet and then followed him outside, only staggering slightly. Sure enough, there was the sheriff, pointing a gun with shaking hands at the prone form of Peter, who was sprawled face down in the grass.

"Stiles!" he cried, and Stiles left Derek's side to run to him.

Derek followed Stiles, but broke off to approach Peter cautiously. The alpha was still breathing, but it was ragged. There was a rather messy exit wound at the back of Peter's head that was trying to close. Derek straddled Peter, ignoring the other werewolf's struggles, and grabbed a handful of Peter's hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat. "This is for Laura," he hissed. He could smell Peter's terror, but all it did was make the feeling of Peter's throat parting all the more satisfying.

Everything was silent for a long, terrible moment. Stiles had twisted in his father's hold to watch, and he felt sick to his stomach, but also kind of... vindicated, on Derek's behalf. He met Derek's gaze over the expanse of blood-soaked grass between them and nodded.

"Jesus Christ," the sheriff hissed, and the moment was over. Stiles looked away from Derek.

"Come on, Dad," he murmured, pulling away from the sheriff and taking his arm. "It's over, we need to go."

Derek nodded. "I'll clean this up," he said, gesturing to Peter's body, a bit breathless from the rush of power entering his system. "Nobody will miss him."

Stiles agreed, but he had to forcibly manhandle his father away from the house. The last thing he saw before turning his back on the whole scene was Derek's eyes burning red.

***

"What the hell happened back there?" the sheriff asked some hours later, when he was sure that Stiles was okay and the adrenaline rush had worn off enough that he was beginning to process everything. "What happened to Derek after he..?"

Stiles sighed, his gaze glued to his curly fries. After everything, he felt like they'd earned them, but neither Stilinski had enough of an appetite to enjoy the rare treat. "I don't know," he confessed.

"Well, red eyes means Alpha, right?" the sheriff pushed.

"I think so," Stiles answered. "So maybe Derek's the Alpha now. I just don't know."

It was the sheriff's turn to sigh. Neither of them really knew what that meant, but he could tell that the thought was upsetting Stiles. Or maybe he was just upset by Derek's absence. They'd both grown used to having the werewolf around, and everything had come to a head really quickly and Derek hadn't so much as called in the aftermath. But the sheriff knew things that Stiles didn't—namely, that Derek would probably be back. "Son—"

"I think I'm just gonna go to bed," Stiles interrupted, standing up. "Is that okay, Dad? My head is pounding."

The sheriff looked away. Maybe now wasn't the time. "Yeah, of course. Let me know if you need anything."

Stiles nodded and walked from the room, leaving the sheriff alone with his thoughts.

***

Derek stayed long enough to make sure that no one and nothing was going to get at Peter's body; it was well after dark by the time he was done. Derek debated his options, but ended up back at the Stilinski house. He hesitated before walking in, and decided on knocking. His senses were even more heightened with the alpha power, and he winced when one of the neighbors' screen doors squealed on its hinges.

The sheriff was the one who answered the door, and he didn't even hesitate before stepping back to let Derek inside. "He's upstairs."

Derek offered the sheriff a tired smile before gesturing at his chest, which was covered in mud, dirt, and blood. "Um. Do you have something I can wipe this off with? Please."

The sheriff followed his gaze and grimaced. "Bathroom. You can take a shower if you want."

This time Derek's smile was grateful; he didn't waste any time under the water, just scrubbed himself down and made sure he was clean before stepping out and dressing in the clothes the sheriff must have left for him. Once he was presentable, Derek headed towards Stiles's room; the door was ajar, and Derek knocked on the doorframe. "Stiles?"

Stiles jumped and only barely managed to avoid toppling out of his desk chair. "Derek," he said, surprised. "You're wet. I mean. What are you doing here?"

Derek rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I uh, don't really have anywhere else to go? And I wanted to talk to you."

"You don't have anywhere else to go," Stiles repeated, disbelieving. "Okay. What do you want to talk about?"

Derek shrugged one shoulder, moving into the room so he could sit on the edge of the bed. "Yeah, I was, uh, living in my old house before I picked up that pot. And I wanted to see how you were doing."

"I'm okay," Stiles answered. "How are you? You're an Alpha now, right?"

Derek nodded. "Yeah. It's gonna take a bit of getting used to. And I'm sorry, for Peter taking you."

"I'm sorry that he was a crazy bastard and you had to kill him," Stiles offered awkwardly.

Derek sighed. "He used to be pretty cool," he murmured. He was quiet for a moment before asking, a bit awkwardly, "Did he say why he was taking you?"

Stiles snorted. "Some psychobabble about wanting to make you feel his pain. Which, I mean, nice try, right? If he wanted to hurt my dad or Scott, maybe, but he lost his family in that fire, just like you did. Hitting me over the head was hardly going to create a similar effect." He shook his head, bemused. "Dude was mad as a box of frogs."

"Yes, he was," Derek admitted. "But he was still clever. He knew exactly what it would do to me if you got hurt. He was planning on hurting—probably killing—you."

Stiles sat forward, watching Derek carefully. "And what, exactly, would it have done to you?"

Derek swallowed, and then braced himself, looking Stiles in the eyes. "It would have made me as crazy as him."

Stiles sucked in a sharp breath. "What are you saying?" he whispered.

"I'm saying, Peter wanted to destroy me by taking away the person I love most. I don't know if it's... love, exactly, but it sure as hell isn't platonic," Derek answered, still looking at Stiles.

Stiles sat back in his chair again, but didn't break Derek's gaze. "Jesus," he sighed, and then he laughed. "I thought it was just me."

Derek's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Just you?" he asked, feeling hopeful.

"Derek," Stiles said seriously. "You don't need me to tell you that you're hotter than the sun. You have eyes, and so do I. But it's not just that. I definitely didn't want your bod when you were tiny and had fluffy ears and a tail."

Derek snorted. "Thank God for that; I'd be even more worried about your mental health if you had."

Stiles grinned. "I think you should kiss me now," he said, holding out a hand.

Derek couldn't honestly say he was startled by Stiles's forwardness—this was Stiles, after all. Besides, he wanted to kiss Stiles. So he took Stiles's hand and tugged slightly, pulling the teenager out of his chair and between Derek's thighs easily. "You sure?" he asked; he had to be sure that this was what Stiles wanted.

Stiles didn't even dignify that with a response; he just braced his hands on Derek's shoulders and leaned down to bring their lips together.

Derek kept the kiss chaste, but it was still enjoyable; enough to confirm that yes, his feelings for Stiles were definitely _not_ of the platonic variety. When they parted, Derek realized he was smiling. Then a thought struck him and wiped the smile away. "You realize we're going to have tell your dad, right?"

"Your dad already knows," the sheriff said from the doorway, causing Stiles to jump yet again—and this time he did end up on the floor.

"Dad!"

"I'd like to remind you both that one of you is sixteen," the sheriff continued as though uninterrupted. "And that I have a gun."

" _Dad_!"

***

After that, life settled down quite a bit—Derek officially moved in with the Stilinskis, under the sheriff's insistence, Scott gradually got better at controlling himself and officially joined Derek's pack, and Derek and Stiles spent a lot of time getting to know each other. Derek got the feeling that Stiles wanted to get to know Derek's body quite a bit better, and Derek felt the same about Stiles's, but he was content to wait; the sheriff had just told them "no sex, penetration or not, and don't kiss where I can see you." It was a reasonable demand, and while it meant that Derek had to take a _lot_ of cold showers, he didn't mind too much.

Still, there was something that Derek minded—his pack was incredibly small, and only had two werewolves in it. It was worrying Derek enough that he was distracted when he and Stiles were supposed to be watching _Criminal Minds_ on Stiles's laptop—with the door open, as the sheriff had reminded them pointedly.

"I can hear you thinking," Stiles blurted, ten minutes into the third episode of the night. They were squashed onto his bed, shoulder to shoulder, and Stiles shoved the laptop off his knees so that he could twist to look at Derek. "What's wrong?"

Derek shrugged. "It's just—Don't get me wrong, I love my pack. But there's only two wolves, and it doesn't feel... stable enough, I think." It took him another few moments to get up the courage to make his suggestion, the one that made his wolf feel more content. "I want to bite."

" _Me_?" Stiles asked, reeling away until his back was against the wall.

Derek shook his head quickly. "No!" he said hastily. "Not unless you asked for it. But even my family, my old pack—we had humans, but most of us were wolves. It feels... unbalanced, only having two wolves in the pack."

Relieved, Stiles relaxed and shuffled closer to Derek, head on his shoulder and a hand in the centre of his chest. "Then maybe you should," he mused, his fingers curling into the material of Derek's shirt. "Bite, I mean. Not me, not yet, but other people. We have to make sure they know what they're getting into, though. It can't be like Scott."

Derek nodded, reaching up to tangle his fingers with Stiles's. "Definitely. And only people that the bite could help. That was my mom's policy," he said quietly. "Seemed to work pretty well for her."

Stiles smiled softly. "Sounds like a great policy," he murmured. Thinking about it, it was also likely to be an effective one. There was a girl in some of his classes who had epilepsy so bad it was pretty much completely debilitating, and there was that one guy who was a total loner. Plus, Scott had seen some pretty nasty bruises on some kid at lacrosse practise a few weeks ago. Stiles sat up to show Derek his smile. "I think I maybe know where you could start looking."


End file.
